Syndicate
by Caseysfancy
Summary: Kim, Ron, Drakken and Shego are recruited by a secret organization following the Lorwardian Invasion. Can Drakken and Shego handle an unexpected strain on their budding relationship? Can Kim except shades of gray? More detailed summary inside K/R D/S
1. An Opening

**A far more involved summary:** The night following the Lorwardian Invasion, a master astrobiologist is kidnapped by an unknown organization. Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable, Drakken and Shego are partially recruited - partially held hostage - by a small, but well-equipped group known simply as _Syndicate_. They are secretive, and two of their members have begrudging, unbreakable ties to Drakken and Shego.

Global Justice (and Kim) doesn't approve or like them, but with the astrobiologist's disappearance and new - seemingly alien - threats develop across the globe, Kim, GJ, and Syndicate decide to team up. Drakken and Shego join the group, as well.

Twists, turns, moles, vagrants, violence, and moral ambiguity turn Kim's world upside down as she, Ron, Drakken, and Shego delve deeper into the Syndicate and its activities.

**Things I will say about this story:** It's dark.

There will be Kim/Ron and Drakken/Shego.

The story is AU-ish, and there will be OCs and OOCs. I've taken great lengths in developing them (the OCs, that is), so I hope you all like them.

This is my first attempt at a fanfic in general, so, please, no flames. If you don't like it, fine - but don't be rude or cruel about it.

Please R&R! Reviews are awesome! And you're awesome! Ergo - You leaving reviews is SUPER awesome.

Oh. Obligatory disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, its characters, its locations, etc.

* * *

In the hours following the invasion, the governments of the world took quick steps to try and rectify the situation. Sporting arenas and schools were converted to emergency housing and hospitals for people whose homes were destroyed and needed aide. People, whose homes weren't ruined, opened their doors to family, friends, and strangers who weren't as lucky.

However, helpful agendas were not the only ones being carried out. Across the globe, the same governments and their corresponding agencies were hurriedly collecting what scraps of the Lorwardian ship had plummeted to earth. Mostly, this was to make sure that people didn't go picking up things that were harmful. But, it was also to collect rare bits of alien technology, so that they could be studied further. No government officials were willing to say anything, but there were fears that opposing countries might try to manipulate the Lorwardian weapons and use them against each other.

This held true for the United States, as well. All over the country, the military had deployed several units to help its citizens, and to collect the wreckage. The artifacts gathered were then sent to Area 51 to be analyzed.

Artemis Vrishkov had been employed by the US military since the early 1990s. He'd grown up in the USSR, and had been taught and trained at the country's Academy of Sciences. He went on to earn a Ph.D. in astrobiology, and assisted in the last few stages of Sputnik's creation.

As the political foundation of the USSR began to crumble, Artemis was recruited by the US's space program, and he moved to Nevada to be apart of Area 51 and its research. His knowledge concerning astrology and astrobiology proved incredibly useful, and he quickly ascended through the ranks at Area 51.

Artemis, now, stood at the open docking bay that was situated at the North end of the largest concrete complex of the Area 51 base. It was about 11:30 PM in the evening following the Lorwardian invasion. In the distant darkness he saw the six yellow dots of incoming army trucks. Each loaded with remnants of Lorwardian weapons and parts of their fallen vessel.

Artemis sighed, removed the glasses from his beaky nose, and rubbed them on his lab coat. He was hoping that there was at least a limb or some other appendage in this next shipment of scraps. He, and the scientists under him, had sifted through several hundred pounds of debris, and they had found several items of interest and value; but astrobiology was Artemis' true passion. He really wanted to dissect the invaders' bodies, and see how they worked; see what made them physiologically different from Homo sapiens.

The three trucks were at the barbed wire gate now. Artemis shifted his weight, anxiously. There was a systematic whirring and clanking sound as the gate of the compound slid open. Artemis' heart rate quickened with excitement as the trucks pulled through and headed towards the docking bay.

The first truck stopped about fifteen feet away from the dock. Artemis waited a few seconds before he motioned to the truck to continue to drive forward. Nothing happened at first. Then the back two trucks turned off their engines and lights, leaving the front vehicle's lights blaring on Artemis.

'Something isn't right,' Artemis though to himself.

The passenger door of the first truck opened, and someone stepped out. Because of the lighting, Artemis could only make out the individual's silhouette against the black. The man began to walk forward. The crunch of the gravel beneath his shoes sent shivers up Artemis' spine. The man walked in front the truck's headlights, making the outline of his body more pronounced. He was tall and slender, but that was all Artemis could tell about him.

"Artemis Vrishkov?"

The voice was unfamiliar. It was a man's. The accent was undistinguishable – American, but the dialect, Artemis could not place.

"Yes?" Artemis said into the light.

Before he could tell what happened, there was a whistled, a bang, a bright light, a boom, and Artemis remembered no more.

* * *

The night after the graduation, after the ceremony, after the beach party, Kim and Ron found themselves sitting on the patio at Ron's house. It had been hurriedly decided that the Possibles would stay with the Stoppables until their house was rebuilt.

The two graduates sat, curled up together, on the cushioned bench staring up at the heavens. Rufus perched on the far arm, wriggling his nose, and nibbling on a tortilla chip. There was not a cloud in the sky and the stars twinkled perfectly. It was difficult to believe that only a few short hours ago that absolute and utter terror that was the Lorwardian invasion had occurred. Now, thanks to Kim and Ron (and a begrudging Drakken and Shego), the assault was over, and all that was left of the Lorwardian's presence were a relative few defeated destructo-drones, and collapsed buildings.

"Do you think they'll be back?" Ron asked suddenly.

Kim, who had grown used to the silence, was caught off-guard by the abrupt question. "I don't know," she finally responded. And she really didn't. Surely, Warhawk and Warmonga weren't the only Lorwardians out there; the universe was a big place, after all. "But," she continued, "if they do come back, all you need to do is whip out a big helping of Monkey Kung-Fu, and problem solved!"

"Mm-Hmm! Yep!" squeaked Rufus.

Ron chuckled at that, and tightened his arm around Kim's shoulder. Another moment passed until Ron voiced another question.

"What do you think Drakken and Shego are gonna do?"

Kim pursed her lips, pondered the question, and answered, "I don't think they can go straight. Not for long, at least."

"And they're still gonna give him a medal," Ron muttered, bitterly. " How many times have you and I saved the world? And what have we gotten? SQUAT!"

"I also heard a rumor that he and Shego are going to get their criminal records wiped clean," Kim said.

Ron rolled his eyes. "That's just great."

"Maybe I'm wrong," Kim said. "Maybe they will go straight; they've done more surprising things."

"Yeah, I guess," Ron sighed, somewhat defeated.

Again, the couple sat in silence. Kim rested her head on Ron's shoulder, and Ron rested his chin on the crown of her head.

'This is the most perfect moment,' Kim thought, smiling.

The biggest mission of their life was over, and now they had the whole summer before them. Hopefully the other villains in the world would be relatively quiet so that she could spend some quality time with Ron and her family before she had to go off to college.

Kim frowned at that last thought: _College_. She still needed to make a decision about that. She had been accepted to all the schools she had thus far applied to, and those schools were everywhere. From the local Upperton University, to the ivy league Yale University, to Oxford University in England, and several others in between.

Ron on the other hand, had been very mum about college. Kim knew he had applied to 'everywhere', but she didn't know which, if any, had responded to his applications.

Kim truly believed what she said: "See? So not the end of the world".

However, she could not completely squelch the feeling in the pit of her stomach about being potentially separated from her best friend and boyfriend for extended periods of time. Thinking of that prospect made Kim snuggle even closer to Ron. As he brought his other arm around her in a tight embrace, the thoughts and feelings of doubt that Kim was experiencing washed away, and she was once again in the present moment.

* * *

Once Shego was able to untangled herself from Drakken's flowery appendage, she and the doctor parted ways; he went to the Round Robin and Scotch Bar, where there was an after-party following the award ceremony, and she went back up to the Jefferson suite in the Willard Hotel. She just needed to get away from all for a bit. Everything had happened so quickly: the Lorwardian Invasion was swift, her decision to help Kimmie save the world was impulsive, and now Drakken (and she, by association) were being decorated and having their criminal records expunged without so much as a trial.

As Shego stepped into the hotel lobby's elevator, she sighed heavily. She lazily pressed the suite's floor button, and the doors closed. She leaned against the wall railing as the elevator began its ascent. It was the oddest feeling; it felt as if she had butterflies fluttering inside her, and her heart was beating at an odd rhythm. Without realizing she was doing it, she placed her arm across her waist; Where Drakken's vine had wrapped around her. She furrowed her brow at the same moment the elevator doors opened. Trying to shake away the forming feelings, Shego stepped out of the elevator.

She glided down the hallway towards the suite, heels clicking and her shimmery green dress flowing behind her. She opened the suite door, slid inside and turned on the lights. Shego paused in the foyer as the butterflies returned. This time she grunted angrily as she stalked through the suite to her room.

'This is stupid,' she thought to her herself, as she carelessly slammed the ornate wooden door behind her. She kicked off her heels and flopped down at the desk across from the double bed.

"Gah. What's wrong with me?" Shego muttered, as she touched her waist again.

Her heart had returned to its prior abnormal rhythm, and the butterflies fluttered more vigorously inside her. Inwardly, in the deepest and darkest recesses of her feelings, she knew what was 'wrong' with her. But the prospect was more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

Where and when had her relationship with her employer changed? She had worked for Drakken for the last five years; a few months after she turned twenty and had left Team Go.

The first year, the relationship between them was one of reluctant professionalism - at least on her part. The high-strung, over zealous, social misfit that was her employer grated on her nerves within the first week of working for him. However, since she was new the business of villainy she thought it would be in her best interest to keep her mouth shut and temper in check.

As their first year progressed, Shego did Drakken's bidding with relatively few sarcastic remarks and eye rolls. But, as the saying goes, familiarity breeds contempt, and Drakken and Shego grew very familiar with each other. Being Drakken's sidekick required so much of Shego's time that she moved into an extra room in the Caribbean lair. Living together caused the two's relationship to seep beyond the strict employer – employee relationship into something else. It wasn't friendship, it wasn't a familial relationship, and it certainly wasn't romantic. But it became different; it was a bond beyond definition.

And now . . . now what?

Kimmie's voice rang in her head: "See? You _do _care!"

And she did. Shego did care. When Drakken had been beamed up into the Lorwardian spacecraft, a feeling a terror and panic gripped Shego like nothing ever had before. After Drakken disappeared, Shego didn't stall for a second, she rushed to locate Kimmie. In the moment, she didn't care if she asked her foe for help; she needed to get her boss back. The prospect of him not being in her life was unbearable.

Shego sucked in a sharp breath at the last thought. Her life would be unbearable without Drakken. When did that happen? When she had originally had the thought, it came automatically and made sense to her. Now, part of her wanted to take it back. She was Shego; after all, one of the most feared and respected villainesses in the world. She didn't need or truly care for anyone or anything. She had worked hard for her reputation, and anything soft or mushy would tank it indefinitely.

Despite the possible disintegration of her stigma, a part of Shego needed to know more about these surfacing feelings. Were they fleeting, or did they have staying power? Perhaps they would eventually melt away since Drakken was no longer in eminent danger.

'_He is undeniably irritating,'_ Shego thought to herself, _'and immature. Not to_ _mention that, physically, he's SOOOOOO not my type.'_

Again, her stomach twisted inside her. Her hands automatically went to her waist and she closed her eyes. Her face softened as she remembered the strong vine that had been around her not an hour before.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by another voice in her head, '_But you always came back. No matter how annoying he was. No matter what he did to you; cloning or mind control, you always came back._

'_He saved you from Aviarius (granted, he was a bit of a dick about it), and you became undeniably jealous with the whole DNAmy thing and when he teamed up with Lucre.'_

Letting out an aggravated growl, Shego laid her head on the desk in front of her, utterly confused. Exhaling forcefully, she went back to the thought that she would have to do something to distinguish between the conflicting thoughts and feelings within her. She wasn't sure what she should do yet, but she knew that something needed to be done. Letting this battle go on in her head was getting old.

She rattled her brain for a solution, and finally settled on a drastic one. All she needed to do was wait for Drakken to get back from the party.

'_It might not be the best way to go about this,' _Shego thought, '_But it's the best I got right now.'_

The slamming of the suite's main door and the loud, familiar grumbling of Drakken jolted Shego out of her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she got up from her seat and traveled to the suite's main room to see what was up with him.

* * *

A/N: I'm doing my best to keep characters 'in character'. Please R&R! Thanks.


	2. Visits and Tiger Sauce

A/N: I uploaded two chapters at once just to give people who read this a little more. I should say this here and now: I LOVE D/S. By far, my favorite pairing.

Also, this chapter introduces the first few OCs, most importantly Ronan. I hope you guys like them. Or at least find them tolerable. I won't say too much about them for the time being.

Anyway, please read and review!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Drakken and Shego.

However, Ronan, Karen, Sutton, Derek and J.P. are mine

* * *

Upon entering the living room, Shego saw Drakken haphazardly toss his medal on one of the suite's decorative tables. It knocked against a vase on its surface, threatening to topple the expensive piece over. Shego lurched across the room and caught the ceramic container before it could fall and shatter.

"Something _wrong, _Dr. D?" Shego drawled. Not even being bestowed an international honor could deter him from griping and grumbling about something. The party downstairs probably didn't have any food to his liking.

"Of course something's wrong!" Drakken exploded. "_I _save the world, and all I get is phlack from everyone!"

Suddenly, there was a loud _**BLOOP!**_ And a ring of yellow petals appeared around Drakken's neck. This had happened so often now that teasing him for it had lost its fun. That, and, Shego couldn't help but feel a sorry for the doctor. Having petals and vines sprout from one's body at odd intervals had to be annoying. She thought about when she had first acquired her own powers; her hands and other appendages would occasionally burst into green plasma with no rhyme or reason. Perhaps the most inopportune time happened when she had been singing in the church choir, and the robes around her caught green fire. Shego had _never_ been more embarrassed.

Drakken hunched his shoulders and breathed heavily. "Nothing. Its just Dementor." He said glumly, as he began to pluck the petals from around his neck.

"What'd he do?" Shego asked, trying to sound nonchalant. In truth, she was suddenly getting cold feet when it came to her plan.

"Um, he – er – was just getting on my nerves," Drakken said, a little bit flummoxed by Shego's interest. He recovered quickly though, as he realized he got to talk about him and his plight, "First he starts calling me a failure in villainy! And then he asks about the skin, so I tell him, and he makes fun of me for that!"

Drakken stopped suddenly, having worked himself up into an increasingly loud and non-exhaling rant. Obeying his bodily needs, he breathed in and out a couple of times before continuing. He looked back over at Shego, to make sure she was still listening.

She wasn't. Instead she was holding his medal, running her fingers across the embossed bronze. Drakken was about to yell at her to pay attention, but he became distracted. Something was off. He didn't know what it was or how he knew something was different, he just did. Perhaps it was the way Shego was looking at the medal with reserved softness. Or maybe it was the way she was standing in her shimmery dress, as if she was trying to blend into the wall. Something was wrong, but he couldn't place his finger on what it was.

"Shego?" He asked, inquisitively.

Shego jumped slightly, and looked up at Drakken. She blinked at him, but did not say anything.

"Is something wrong?" He asked carefully.

Again, Shego didn't respond. Instead she bit her bottom lip and looked back down at the medal.

'_Just walk over to him_,' she thought to herself.

Shego looked up and locked eyes with her employer. Slowly, she closed the distance between them; the only sound in the suite was the clicking of her heels on the wood floor. Once she was a foot in front of him, she lifted the medal and placed it back around his neck. For the first time she could remember, she was suddenly aware of how much taller he was than her. Even though she was in heels, which brought her to a statuesque 5'10", he was still about five inches taller than her. For whatever reason, she never noticed before how he towered over her, and now that she did, it was slightly intimidating.

"Shego," Drakken asked, very confused, "what are doing?"

Shego looked at him and then back down at the medal, which she was still holding, even though it was securely hung from Drakken's neck.

She had come this far; she knew she would kick herself later if she didn't follow through.

Still looking at the medal, she said, "I just wanted to see something."

She looked back up at Drakken, who still looked a little confused. She felt an uncontrollable slight smile curl her lips as she tightened her hold on the medal, and gently pulled his face towards hers.

Never in a million years would Shego have ever bought the whole "fireworks" aspect of kissing, but when her and Drakken's lips met, she closed her eyes as blue and green sparkles filled the inside of her eyelids. Her prior doubts about taking this step melted away as she felt Drakken's arms slowly wrap around her and brought closer to him. Vines that gently cradled the couple closely followed his arms. It felt to Shego as if her heart was in her throat, and a great, round warmth filled her belly. She couldn't even believe that she had considered not doing this. Something about this was undeniably 'right'. Shego parted her lips, and sighed contently into Drakken's mouth.

At first, Drakken thought that Shego had raided the mini bar while he had been down at the party. Why else would she kiss him? But he didn't smell or taste any alcohol on her. Why would Shego do this? He wasn't particularly handsome or brave; saving the world certainly wasn't a turn on for her. He couldn't deny that he had, in the past, had thoughts and even a couple of dreams of an 'adult-nature' about Shego. But he would never have thought that it would come to any fruition. Nor could he deny that, deep down, that he wanted this.

More than anything.

More than the world.

It was funny how being stuck up in an alien spacecraft could make one reevaluate one's priorities. While in Warhawk and Warmonga's brig, when he wasn't arguing with Kim Possible, he was thinking about how he may never see Shego again. The thought saddened and upset him more than he expected. He had wished that he had worked up the courage to tell Shego that he felt something more than an employee-employer relationship towards her. In the moment, he resolved that, if he ever saw her again, he would tell her. But when she unexpectedly showed up aboard the spaceship, he couldn't do it. Fears of rejection and embarrassment gripped him and he settled with the fact that he at least got to see Shego again.

Now he was overwhelmingly happy. When Shego didn't break away, Drakken relaxed and gave into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, and a moment later he felt his vines twine around them as well.

Upon hearing a soft noise catch in Shego's throat, Drakken took the initiative to deepen the kiss, and Shego did not object. A few moments more passed as they stood in the softly lit suite, kissing. Shego's hand was still gripping Drakken's medal, even though her encouragement was no longer needed.

At the same moment, the two broke the kiss, but neither backed away from each other. Their arms (and Drakken's vines) remained tangled around each other, and they kept their heads tilted, foreheads touching. They locked eyes, not saying anything. No words were needed.

If saving the world had led them to this point, it was worth it.

* * *

About four hours north of Washington D.C., in Brooklyn, New York, in a Brooklyn apartment, a Brooklyn woman was getting ready for bed. Karen Anderson peeled off her clothes and replaced them with an old long sleeved shirt and a pair of dark gray harem pants. She went to her bathroom, took out her contacts, and placed wire-framed glasses on her long, sloping nose.

Turning off the bathroom and bedroom lights, she made her way for the kitchen. It was close to eleven at night, and despite having a long dance rehearsal that day, she couldn't wind down. Physically, she was exhausted, but her mind was all over the place. Besides the rehearsal, she was still trying to wrap her mind around the alien invasion that took place earlier the other day, and there were a few other things on her mind that she wish were not there.

Once in the small kitchen, Karen retrieved a wine glass from the drying rack next to the sink, and poured herself a hefty glass of crappy three-dollar merlot. She stared into in the dark pool for a bit before taking the glass into the dining room.

Upon first entering the room, Karen did not notice the shadowy, lurking figure leaning against the hutch, parallel to the dining table. Belatedly, the unusual sight stimulated Karen's peripheral. Instinctively, she looked to her left and let out a sound somewhere between a shriek and a gasp.

Beginning to recover, Karen set the stem on the table and placed her right hand over her heart and breathed, "Ronan!"

At first, Ronan didn't respond to her mother; she remained leaning against the hutch, observing her. As she began to recollect herself, Karen, in turn, observed her daughter. It had been at least ten months since she had seen Ronan last and it seemed not a whole lot had changed. Ronan was just as thin and willowy as ever, her impossibly long limbs wrapped in slate and black clothing. Her light amber eyes shone through black eye liner and the deep pools of her eye sockets.

A minute passed as mother and daughter stared at each other. Sensing that Ronan was not going to start talking, Karen spoke.

"You still have the apartment key, I take it?"

"Yes."

Another moment passed. Again, Karen took the initiative, "How long have you been here?"

"Not long."

"Are you staying?" This last question had a slight tone of hopefulness to it.

"No," came the response. The word was forceful and mean. It took Karen back a bit, but she wasn't surprised by the answer.

Communication not being their strong suit, the two women engaged in another stare down. Karen's green eyes were soft and pleading as they looked into Ronan's harsh, angry amber ones.

Finally, Ronan shifted. Taking a step closer to the table, simultaneously uncrossing her arms, revealing a piece of paper that she tossed onto the wood surface. The paper skittered across the table, and stopped next to Karen's wine glass. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the image printed on the sheet of paper.

"Is that him?" Ronan asked in a voice that indicated that she already knew the answer.

Karen collapsed into the nearest seat, shifting the paper so that she could get a better look at it. Deciding that she had kept this from Ronan for long enough, she swallowed the looked up at Ronan and said, "You know why I didn't tell you."

Ronan made a disgusted 'tsch' sound with her tongue, but didn't say anything more.

"Ro," Karen said, firmly, "whether you were born or not, it wouldn't have made any difference in the choices he made." Karen paused. "He wouldn't have been there for you."

Ronan blinked, "He doesn't know about me?"

Karen licked her lips and sighed. "No."

Ronan felt her throat tighten and her ears grow hot at her mother's answer. She wasn't expecting that physiological response and she didn't like it. It made her feel childish and weak. Like flipping a switch, Ronan redirected her sudden feelings of anxiety and betrayal into ones of anger and hostility.

Without warning, Ronan lurched across the table, slamming her palms onto the opposite edge, where Karen was sitting. The sudden movement and invasion of space caused Karen to jump in her seat.

Again, the two women locked eyes and, again, Karen spoke, "What difference would it have made to you if you had known who he was or not?"

Ronan dug her black nails into the wooden table.

"Why does it matter?" Karen asked again.

"You're my mother," Ronan hissed, "You should have told me when I first asked you who my father was."

"And, again, I ask you," Karen said, "what difference would it have made? He wasn't part of my life when you were born. He wasn't part of your life _ever_. What difference will it make now?"

"Things could've been different," Ronan said quietly.

Karen furrowed her brow, "What are you talking about? What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Ronan whispered, as she leaned back up, removing her hands from the table. She flexed her long white fingers as the rage in her subsided. She looked down at her hands. The word 'GOOD' was tattooed across her right knuckles, and the word 'EVIL' was tattooed across the left. She had gotten them done a little over a year ago, before she knew. The words seemed so ironic now. Ronan took a step back into the shadows.

"Where are you going?" Karen demanded hurriedly.

"It doesn't matter," Ronan said. "It doesn't concern you."

"Ronan, please," Karen scolded, "this has been going on for long enough. Within the last three years, ever since you graduated from MIT, I don't think I've seen or heard from you more than four times! Now, I know you hate me and that's fine – "

"I don't hate you. I have to go," Ronan said abruptly. She turned on her heel and walked towards the hallway that led to the apartment door.

"Ronan," Karen said urgently, shooting up from her chair, "please tell me where you're going."

Ronan didn't answer and continued for the door.

"Are you going to look for him?" Karen asked just as Ronan reached the foyer of the apartment. She stopped and turned to at her mother one last time.

"It's out of my hands," Ronan said. And, with that, she left.

Karen collapsed back into her chair and put her face in her hands. She sighed and looked over at her wine glass; She no longer in the mood to indulge her Merlot craving. Picking up the stem, she set the wine aside and focused her attention on the piece of paper Ronan had tossed onto the table.

There was one solitary picture on it. The image was of a man and a woman ensnared in an awkward botanical embrace. Karen knew the man as Drew Lipsky, but now he was Dr. Drakken: former mad scientist, now savior of the world. The woman was his partner in crime and in secular safety, Shego.

Sighing heavily, Karen set the paper back on the table and looked at the place where Ronan had been standing. Her daughter was impulsive. She was incredibly smart, but didn't always think things through. On top of that, she also had a history of violent behavior, especially when she was not taking her medicine. Smart, impulsive, violent: for not knowing her father, Ronan was more like him than Karen could ever have anticipated.

Feeling fidgety, Karen took up the paper again. Her eyes settled on the gleaming medal looped around Drakken's neck. This award ceremony took place earlier that day in Washington D.C. and it was all the media could talk about.

Karen made a disgusted sound, similar to Ronan's, as she placed the paper back on the table. She was ultimately disgusted with herself. Did she really think she could keep this secret, especially with Drew being plastered all over the news these past few years? She was lucky that Ronan hadn't realized who her father was until now.

Karen hadn't seen Drew in over twenty years. The last time she had seen him was about six months before Ronan was born. She couldn't tell him then.

'_Is it too late?'_ Karen thought to herself.

Not knowing what Ronan would do if she confronted Drew first, Karen had to try to get to him before her daughter did. It was for her own piece of mind, as well as Drew's safety.

'_I have to tell him at some point,'_ Karen thought. '_Tomorrow's as good a day as any.'_

* * *

Once she had left her mother's apartment, Ronan walked a couple blocks West. She slinked into a narrow alley between a ratty apartment building and a greasy Chinese restaurant. Once out of view of the street, Ronan pulled out her phone to check the time: 11:33 PM.

She sighed; she was running late. She pocketed the phone and continued to make her way down the alley. Once she was half way down the passage, she came across a dumpster that was a few feet away from the Chinese restaurant.

Ronan slipped behind the dumpster and came out the other side wheeling a tarped motorcycle. She uncovered the bike, revealing a black, gleaming, fast Ducati 1098S Superbike. She deftly folded the tarp, and shoved it in a backpack that was perched on the bike seat. After putting on the backpack, her riding jacket, and visored helmet, Ronan mounted the bike, turned the ignition and sped out of the alley, taking a sharp right onto the adjacent street.

Ronan didn't worry about getting caught speeding. With the recent invasion, most police departments were preoccupied with patrolling demolished buildings, so as to prevent looters from stealing valuables. They were also being kept busy with calls from deluded – often drunk – recluse shut-ins who claimed to have seen other unidentified flying objects approaching Earth.

She typically didn't have vehicular related problems with cops, since they normally didn't see her. When she needed to be somewhere fast, and she sped along at 120 mph, the modified Ducati's lights went out, and the visor of her helmet lit up with integrated night vision technology. In any case, Ronan flicked a switch on the dash board of her bike that sent out high frequency electro-magnetic waves which would scramble and temporarily short out a police car's radar.

And so, she cruised down the interstate without a worry. About an hour and forty minutes later, Ronan arrived at her next location. It was a seedy bar and trucker stop outside of Baltimore, Maryland. She pulled up and parked her bike at the end of a line of Harley cruisers. She dismounted, tucked her helmet under her arm and walked into the establishment.

The bar was dimly lit with yellow-orange light, and hazy with cigarette and cigar smoke. Even thought it was that odd time when it was barely the present night, but not quite the following day, the bar was surprisingly packed. Ronan surveyed the crowd, looking for her rendezvous. Her eye caught the sudden movement of a waving hand at the very back of the room. Moving with swift, deliberate steps, Ronan made her way towards the hand.

When she reached the designated table, three men greeted her. The one to her left appeared to be about her age – 22. He had a slender build, his skin was a luminescent peachy color, his dark brown hair was carelessly slicked back, and a pair of dramatic eyebrows sat above his piercing blue eyes.

The man in the middle could easily be identified as the first man's older brother; which was convenient because he was. He was at least a decade older than the younger, and he had a longer face. His hair had been shaved to fine fuzz. Like his brother, he also had an intense pair of blue eyes.

The third man was a massive. He looked almost comical sitting at the small table. He was black, with a broad smile, showing gleaming white teeth. He was completely bald, and his head and bulging muscles caught the yellow light of the bar well.

The younger brother tapped out the fourth chair from under the table, indicating that Ronan should sit. She did, and while doing so, she whipped out a pack of cigarettes, placing one of the sticks between her lips and lit it.

"What're you two doing here?" Ronan asked through a haze of smoke. She jutted her head towards the older brother and black man.

"Well, hello to you too," the elder brother said, biting into the messy sandwich he was holding.

"What are you eating?" Ronan asked, upper lip curling in disgust.

"Pit beef sandwich with tiger sauce. Bite?" he responded, gesturing the sandwich in her direction.

"No," Ronan said, tapping the end of her cigarette into the table's ashtray. "Thanks though, Derek."

Derek shrugged and went back to eating.

The younger brother leaned towards Ronan and said, "There's been a change in plans. Derek and J.P. are going to get the doctor and his partner. You and I are going to Middleton."

"Rooke and Margo gave us these," J.P. said, unfurling a long piece of fabric. Inside, there were a couple of vials of clear liquid and a few empty tranquilizer bullets. "And they arranged a truck for us to take when we have the two."

"I don't get it. Why the change?" Ronan asked, trying to blow away the edge in her voice with the cigarette smoke.

"You and Sutt are going to take a SUV. It's out in the lot," Derek said, wiping his mouth. "There's room in the truck, so we'll load up the Ducati in there."

"_Why _the change?" Ronan inquired again.

"Ro," Sutton said. But he was cut off.

"Can you please answer the goddamn question?" Ronan spat at Derek and J.P.

"Come on. Outside." Sutton said, gently taking Ronan by the arm and leading her outside the bar.

Once outside, Sutton released her. Ronan turned to look at him.

"Why did they change it?" Ronan asked, eyes lighting up.

"Ro," Sutton said. "I requested the swap."

Ronan's eyes grew wider. She made a few stifled sounds, before she took the last drag off her cigarette. She blinked furiously as she held the smoke in her mouth, still trying to think of something to say. Finally, she dropped the butt and exhaled the smoke. She stepped on the butt, and dug the toe of her shoe on top of it.

Letting out a shaky breath, she looked back at Sutton, her eyes glassy and said, "Why?"

Sutton stepped towards Ronan, and gripped her boney shoulders.

"Do you think you could handle this?"

Ronan swallowed, knowing she couldn't. And hating it.

* * *

A/N: I hope everyone liked this chapter. I debated breaking it up into two chapters, but I was afraid that it would ruin the flow of the story. I promise, a more in depth explanation of characters and their relationships to each other are coming.

The next chapter, Kim and Ron will be back (I'm pretty sure at least), and there WILL be more D/S. Along with other encounters.

I should take this moment to say that, I will try and update every week or two; I'm a senior in college and I work so, my time is somewhat limited. However, I do currently have mono so I am unable to spend my free time training (I'm a triathlete), so I will try to write more. Please R&R!


	3. Morning Sex and Illegitimate Children

kriitikko: Thanks for the review! It means a lot. I hope you continue to find the story interesting.

zzzoo99: Thanks for adding this story to your alerts! I hope you're liking it thus far.

CajunBear73: An unfounded personal grudge, but a grudge nonetheless. Thank you for reviewing and adding this story to your favorites. I really appreciated it!

**A/N**: I'm not used to writing "naughtiness", and I didn't want to undermine the rest of the story, so the D/S sexiness below may not be as sexy and well-written as I would've liked. Oh well. Thanks to all who read and reviewed the first two chapters! PLEASE R&R! :DDDD

Oh. I should mention, if it's not obvious, that this story takes place right after the series' conclusion. Meaning that the year this story takes place is 2007. Just an FYI :)

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Kim Possible and its affiliating characters. I do own Karen, Derek and John-Paul.

* * *

They had not planned on crossing any 'lines' that evening, but before Drakken or Shego knew it, they had ended up in Drakken's room. It seemed as though their stifled emotions and suffocated urges had reached their breaking points that night.

As Drakken stirred in the early hours of the morning, he slowly became aware of a soft weight on his arm and chest. He carefully looked down and was greeted by a mass of luxurious black hair. His breath caught in his throat for a moment; he was so sure that last night had been a dream - a wonderfully unfortunate dream. But the woman sleeping on his chest proved otherwise. He laid his head back on his pillow and smiled as the previous night came flooding back into his mind.

After they had broken the kiss, Drakken had a rare moment of bravery and confidence, and took Shego gently by the hand and led her to his room. Honestly, he didn't have a clue what he should do once he and Shego were in his room; it just seemed like the thing to do at the time. However, something about him taking the initiative had spurred Shego's interest, and when they had entered the room, Shego reinitiated the lip lock.

Things heated up from there; once Shego started kissing him again, Drakken pulled her into his chest with surprising force. He opened his mouth into the kiss and a deep, gravelly growl rumbled up from his throat. The sound excited Shego and she pulled Drakken into her as she toppled onto the bed.

There was a furious storm of clothes and unadulterated passion, and before either of them really realized what was happening, they were both naked.

Drakken suddenly stopped, realizing the gravity of what could possibly happen.

"Shego," he said, breathlessly, breaking a frantic kiss.

Shego looked up at Drakken, suddenly becoming truly aware of their current situation: Drakken was on top of her, vines beginning to creep around them, and under her body. And she was okay with it. More than okay, in fact. She was happily content with the situation, and she wished that Drakken had not stopped to question it.

She reached up, softly touched Drakken's face with the tips of her fingers, and smiled. "It's okay," she said.

Drakken smiled back at her and kissed her again. After that, there were no questions, there were no doubts; whatever happened, happened. After a few more minutes of kissing, petting and groping, they had sex.

Drakken's smile broadened into a toothy grin. The sex had been better than any dream he'd ever had. Shego suddenly shifted under his arm. The movement surprised Drakken a bit, but she merely turned her head so that it was facing the other way. She briefly tensed and let out a muffled snore, before she relaxed and resumed a restful sleep.

Lazily, Drakken ran his fingers through her glossy hair. A large, warm happiness began to well up inside of him. This had actually happened. He and Shego had actually indulged in carnal human emotions and urges without the aid of alcohol or moodulators. Both of them had wanted each other, and, to Drakken, it was a wonderful feeling.

Knowing that Shego preferred to sleep-in undisturbed, Drakken continue to lie relatively still so as to not wake her. Usually, he would've preferred to get up and putter around, but it wasn't every morning his body had a beautiful sleeping woman sprawled across it. He sighed contently, and tried to fall back asleep.

Shego didn't wake until an hour after Drakken had originally gotten up. Drakken, himself, had not been successful in falling back asleep. So he spent that hour softly running his fingers through her hair and caressing the exposed skin of her shoulder and back.

Slowly, Shego became aware of the soft touches of the doctor, and she twisted her head to lazily look at him.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, groggily. Drakken was languidly staring at her shoulder as his fingers stroked up and down her back.

"Your freckles," he answered simply. "I've never noticed them before."

Indeed, Shego did have freckles smattered across her shoulders and down her back; it was the only evidence that she sun bathed, since she was unable to tan.

Slowly, Shego shifted her weight, and stretched her torso so that she was able to meet the doctor's lips and plant a kiss there. Drakken gladly accepted the kiss, and cupped her face with his left hand.

After they broke the kiss, Drakken spoke, "Shego, last night –" he broke off, trying to word his feelings appropriately.

At his words, Shego's stomach knotted. She really did not want Drakken to ruin whatever it was they had before it had even really begun.

"What about last night?" she spat, more venomously than she meant to.

Slightly taken aback by the ferocious tone of Shego's question, Drakken regained himself and said, "Last night was wonderful, and I would very much like for it to continue."

The last part of the sentence, Drakken stumbled over as he realized there were probably better ways to establish a romantic relationship.

The mirth melted away from Shego's face and she began to laugh. As she continued to chortle, Drakken began to get a little annoyed. He knew what he said was not poetic or romantic, but there was no need to laugh at him.

"Oh, don't get your boxers in a twist!" Shego giggled. "I'm laughing_ with_ you! Really!"

"I'd feel better if I was actually laughing," Drakken pouted. "Plus, it's difficult to twist _my _boxers, considering they're over there."

Drakken pointed to a lone pair of boxer briefs hanging over the back of a chair.

"Touché," Shego said, looking back at him. She grinned, and then softly said, "Dr. D, last night was perfect. I'm glad it happened."

"Me too," Drakken agreed. This time, he started the kiss by pulling her head towards his.

The kiss slowly grew more and more intense. Hands roamed up and down their bodies, groping and petting. Shego's lips wandered down to Drakken's neck and bit it. The erotic feeling led him to firmly grab Shego's bottom and repositioned her so that she was straddling him.

Shortly there after, they began to have sex again, this time slower and more purposeful than the night before. Each pelvic roll was overwhelmingly rhythmic and venereal.

Since Drakken was familiar with Shego's powers, she did not concern herself with keeping them in check, and let herself completely become absorbed in the feverish act in which she found herself. When she had had sex in the past, she would always need to be conscious in keeping her glow in check, since most men did not find fiery hands a turn on. Therefore, she had never really been able to completely enjoy sex for what it was. And because she was concentrating on keeping her glow under control, her 'blue ribbons' were few and far between.

But now that she was with someone who was used to seeing her with bright green hands, she gave herself over to Drakken fully and without question. As she continued to ride him, the feeling of him inside her began to become crushingly amazing. She bent over in pleasure, placing her fists on either side of Drakken's head. Shego's hands began to spark, and they became enveloped in her flaming plasma.

Before the plasma could lick at Drakken's face, he sat up, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her closer and farther down on him. The grind made Shego cry out and shudder. Suddenly a series of flowered vines wrapped around the couple, and they continued in their intense and earthy lovemaking.

As they continued, Shego couldn't help but emit deep, guttural, satisfied cries that spurred Drakken into a faster rhythm. Soon, they were both near their breaking points. In their final pelvic rolls and thrusts, Shego uncontrollably dug her nails into Drakken's back and cried out in pure ecstasy. Drakken tensed and shuddered in the absolute release of the moment.

The two stayed sitting up for a minute, holding onto each other, and breathing heavily into each other's necks. Finally, Drakken fell back onto his pillow (which now had two burn holes in it) with a satisfied 'Hhmph!' sound. He loosened his grip on Shego, and she slowly rolled off of him.

The lay next to each other for a minute or two, staring at the ceiling, breathing raggedly.

"I definitely think we can make this work," Shego said, finally. Drakken smiled and grabbed her warm hand.

* * *

Karen was not expecting the hotel concierge to be overly helpful if she asked to see the hotel's most prominent guest, so once she got to the Willard Hotel at 10:30 in the morning, she made a B-line for the Round Robin. She planned to grab a cup of coffee and sit at a table where she could keep an eye on the hotel lobby.

As she sat down, a waiter came over to take her order. She ordered a cup of black coffee, since it was cheapest thing, besides water, on the brunch menu. After the waiter walked away, Karen reached into her purse and pulled out a small photo album. The book had a series of Ronan, from birth to her graduation from MIT.

Karen nervously flipped through the pages until her coffee arrived. She dropped a sugar cube into the cup and uneasily stirred it. Her eyes flicked to the lobby as she took a sip.

Nothing yet.

Karen looked at her cell phone to see the time: 10:50 AM. Drew had to up by now. She knew he wasn't one to sleep-in. And, as if on cue, she heard the distant 'ding' of the lobby elevator, and two voices followed; one of which was very familiar.

"So, where are you going?" Drakken asked, as he and Shego stepped out of the elevator.

"For the _fourth_ time, I'm going to a spa," Shego responded.

"Nnnrgh. Why am I not surprised?" Drakken asked, rhetorically.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm not into all that science-y stuff and museums," Shego said, not sounding sorry at all. "I prefer to make my own history," she finished.

"Ah yes! Soon I will be in the history books! -"

"For saving the world," Shego reminded him, snidely.

"Thank you for harshing my mellow," Drakken sighed glumly.

"Look," Shego said, as they reached the hotel doors, "You go do your little sight seeing, I'll go to my well-deserved spa time, and we'll reconvene for dinner."

"Very well," Drakken said. He had been hoping to spend some more time with Shego, but he supposed that spending a few hours without her wouldn't be too bad.

Shego couldn't help but grin at the slight pout on Drakken's face. He could be such a baby sometimes. The pout vanished as Shego stood on her tiptoes and quickly pecked him on the lips.

"See you later, Dr. D!" Shego said, as she walked out of the hotel.

Drakken stood, a bit stunned by Shego's affection, at the door for a moment more, watching her go. When he regained himself, he too went onto the sidewalk. It was a beautiful May morning, and he was having difficulty deciding what he wanted to do first.

"Drew?" came a voice from behind him.

Drakken was jolted out of his inner struggle between the Air and Space museum versus the Museum of Natural History. He turned to look behind him, and his jaw almost dropped.

He hadn't heard from – much less seen – Karen Anderson for over twenty years. Drakken had met her a couple weeks after she had turned seventeen, he assumed – if he did his quick mental math correctly – that she should be just shy of forty now. She was tall, about 5'10", and had an athletic frame. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a messy knot at the nape of her long neck. She had a pair of lovely dark green eyes, a long nose, and a wide mouth. The only sign of age upon her were the few, soft wrinkles that were placed at the corners of her eyes and the outside of her mouth.

She was wearing a pair of old jeans, short black leather boots, a gray tank top and a pale yellow cardigan. A canvas messenger bag was slung over her shoulder; the whole look had the air of resale shops and discount bins.

"Karen," Drakken said, once he was able to find his voice.

She smiled. The feature was fitting on her; it made her eyes sparkle and her face glow.

"Hi," she said. The two just stood and stared at each other for a bit. Neither of them really knew what to say. What do you say to someone you haven't seen or heard in twenty plus years? Drakken continued to stare, in awe of the woman in front of him. Karen's fingers nervously tightened around the strap of her bag.

"How are you?" Drakken finally said, after gaping at her like an idiot for a good minute.

"Good! Good," Karen replied. "You?"

"Oh, you know," Drakken said, slurring over the words, not really knowing what to say.

Another moment passed before Karen spoke again.

"Um, are you free for lunch?" she asked. She didn't really know what she was doing, but she didn't feel like standing on the sidewalk to talk.

Caught off guard, all Drakken could think to say was, "Yeah. Sure."

Twenty minutes later, the couple found themselves sitting across from each other at a small café a few blocks from the Willard. The previous awkwardness between them had disintegrated, and they sat, chuckling and talking up a storm, waiting for their respective orders.

At the moment, Drakken was finishing up a story about the time he had tried to use memory recall via 3X5 cards. It had not been very successful, and Karen was laughing at the idea of Drew scribbling random, nonsensical words on note cards.

"So," Drakken said, switching gears, "you obviously _know _what I've been up to. It's been all over the news after all. How have you been?"

"I've been fine," Karen said, taking an inconspicuous sip of her lemon water. "I moved to Brooklyn and joined a dance company in 1990. Since then I've been performing, doing some teaching."

"Really?" Drakken asked, genuinely interested. In all honesty he didn't really care too much for dance. But he did – he had – cared about Karen. Even if he hadn't seen her for such a long time, he was still happy for her.

"Yeah. It's been great. We primarily do Modern, but we've dabbled in other genres. We do a few shows a year, travel; it's great." Karen said. She was purposely sidestepping anything too heady. She was still working up the guts to seriously talk to him.

"So, who's the girl?" Karen questioned slyly, grinning.

Drakken blanched slightly at the question. It wasn't accusing, but Karen implied, with her mischievous look, that she knew what he and Shego did last night. And this morning.

Drakken coughed into his fist, as he leaned nonchalantly back in his chair. "She's my sidekick. My partner. My . . . friend," he waffled.

Karen raised her eyebrows, and a small snicker escaped through her straight teeth. "You sly dog. You're totally hitting that!"

A lavender blush crossed Drakken's nose, and he grew hot behind the ears. "SO?" was all he managed to come up with.

Karen laughed openly, but not maliciously. "So, you still like them young, huh?"

"Please do not laugh at me."

"I'm sorry," Karen sighed, laughter winding down.

"It's not like she's a child. She's twenty-five," Drakken said, hotly. Almost immediately after saying that, he quickly added, "Please don't repeat that. She doesn't like talking about her age."

"Geez, if she can't revel in her mid-twenties, what's it gonna be like when she hits forty?" Karen said. Drakken shook his head as a response. "One more question."

Drakken looked at her, a bit exasperated.

"Just one more about her. I promise," Karen said. Drakken blinked at her, and twirled his hand as motion for her to continue. "Is Shego _really _her name?"

"No," he answered. Karen looked at him, expectantly. "I'm not telling you her real name; she won't let me call her by it, so what good is that information to you?"

"Fair enough," Karen said, raising her hands in surrender.

Their waiter bringing them their food briefly interrupted the conversation. After setting down their dishes, there was a further lull in discussion as the two began eating.

"At least she's not as young as you when we first met," Drakken muttered, mostly to himself. He knew he shouldn't be as ruffled as he was about Karen's comment about Shego's age, but he was still stuck on it.

"They don't get much younger than I was when we met," Karen said back. There was a certain playfulness in her eyes when she concluded with, "I had barely turned seventeen when we started dating."

The heat behind Drakken's ears returned. He knew that when they had dated, the age difference didn't seem like a big deal; she was seventeen, he had been twenty-one – almost twenty-two. Now, looking back on it, Drakken felt, for lack of a better word, _dirty._

They sat, chewing in silence. Slowly, an uncomfortable feeling began to rise in Drakken's stomach. He suddenly became aware of how strange this situation was. Here he was, sitting across from an old flame, who he hadn't had any contact with for several years, talking and laughing like they hadn't missed a beat.

Drakken furrowed his brow, as he sifted through the French fries on his plate. An old flame who had left him – not even dumped – _left_ him; the only courtesy being a hand written letter that she had left on the garbage-picked coffee table in their shabby one-room apartment. It had been April 12th 1985 when she left and he had found the note. They had been seeing each other for nearly eight months; living with each other for most of that time. And then, out of the blue, Karen had left. In the note she said she was sorry, it wasn't working, and that she was heading back to Connecticut, where her parents lived.

"Karen," Drakken began, picking his words carefully, "why are you here?"

Karen looked up from her chicken sandwich. She tried to look puzzled, but the quick flickering of her eyelids gave her away. It was an involuntary movement that happened when she tried to feign reposition, and Drakken knew that.

She looked back down at her plate; mouth slightly opened, as she tried to explain.

"I just thought," she uneasily began, "that I owed you an explanation."

'_Fuck. I better just be straight forward.'_

"I feel bad for how things ended," Karen continued.

"Yeah, well, you should," Drakken said. He didn't want to be angry with her, but it was logical emotion for the moment. In truth, Drakken wasn't truly bitter, but for some reason, he felt obligated to feel it.

Karen licked her lips, and said, "I do. But it's not the only reason I came-"

She broke off, as she reached into the bag hung over her chair. Her hands were beginning to shake and become clammy. Her fingers locked around the small album, she took a mental deep breath, and pulled it out. She set it on the table between them, and looked at him.

"What is it?" Drakken said, utterly confused.

"Just look at it, please," Karen said, softly. Gone was the strong front she had been putting on. She had slowly become paler, and she was visibly uncomfortable. Karen folded her arms, defensively, and sat back in her chair.

Bewildered, Drakken picked up the photo album, and looked back at Karen. Her eyes were focused on the salt and peppershakers on the table, purposely avoiding further eye contact. Drakken turned his attention to the photo album. He slipped his fingers under the cover and opened it.

The first picture was of a newborn baby. The date stamp in the lower right hand corner of the photo said that it had been taken on October 28th, 1985. The child, a girl, was lying naked, legs and arms in the air, partially swaddled by a hospital issued blanket. There was a tiny hospital bracelet circled around the child's left wrist, and there was a sort of twist-tie implement tied off around the newborn's severed umbilical cord.

The next photo was of Karen. She was propped up in a hospital bed, holding the baby from the previous page. The Karen in the picture was younger than the woman sitting in front of him. The time-date stamp was from the same day as the other photo. In it, Karen was flushed and tired looking, but she was smiling down at the small bundle in her arms. There was another woman in the frame, an older woman with shoulder length dark brown hair. The facial similarities between her and Karen hinted at a maternal-familial relationship - Her mother, and the child's grandmother. She, too, was not looking at the camera. Instead, she also was ogling the baby.

The next few pages in the album were of the baby in different stages of infancy: in her bassinette, on blanket lying under some plastic mobile thing, in a stroller that Karen was pushing, and so on.

As he flipped through the pages, Drakken's heartbeat began tapping at a strange rhythm. He didn't know what he was looking at yet, but the pieces were beginning to puzzle themselves together in his mind.

The next pages he perused over were of the girl as a toddler. The photos were not of the best quality, but he could see that she had grown long, scraggly locks of dark brown-black hair and her eyes were a strange shade of light brown. Her skin was a white and pristine as it had been when she was a baby. A few of the pictures featured the child playing on a beach. In a few photos, a man, who Drakken assumed to be the girl's grandfather appeared, holding the girl.

As Drakken continued to inspect the pictures, he began to notice that the facial expressions of the girl were hauntingly similar to pictures his own mother had of him from his youth. Drakken's throat began to tighten as he continued to look through the pages.

The pictures quickly began to pick up pace in terms of the child's aging. Fewer and fewer pictures caught her stages of development. Simultaneously, the girl appeared to grow more and more adverse to the camera. Her expressions shifted from the boundless excitement of adolescence and youth, to the stony unpleasantness of puberty and beyond. Within a couple pages, Drakken could see that the girl grew several inches within a couple of years – to a height rivaling that of her mother in 1997, when she would've been eleven or twelve. Even though she had grown great lengths in height, her weight did not appear to catch up; she was painfully scrawny.

There were a few graduation pictures next in the album. Drakken didn't know what stage in her educational career though. The girl, whose long locks had been cut into a messy pixie cut, barely looked to be fourteen in the picture, but the students around her, in matching caps and gowns, looked like they were in their late teens. Why would a child be dressed in graduation attire at a high school graduation?

Belatedly, Drakken noticed two, small dots placed on either side of her right eyebrow. Inwardly, he 'tut-tutted', '_Stupid facial piercings,'_ he thought.

The next picture was taken on the same day, June 1st 1999, by the photo's time stamp. It was of the girl and Karen. Drakken could now see that the girl had grown even more since the 1997 photoperiod. The young girl now stood, in black dress flats, several inches above her mother. He pegged her to be about as tall as he was – 6'3". Karen was smiling, and a faint, forced grin was stretched about her daughter's lips.

At once, Drakken was struck with the sheer magnitude of what he was looking at. The girl shared Karen's eye shape, her wide mouth, and her hair color, but that was it. Her long face shape, high cheekbones, sculpted nose, and ears were his. Even her height and the scraggly, unmanageable texture of her hair were familiar.

Drakken had involuntarily stopped breathing as he flipped through the last few photos. There were only about five left in the album. From the 1999 graduation photo, the album jumped to 2002 and another graduation. This time, instead of late spring, it appeared to be winter. Drakken judged this simply by how people were dressed in the last few photos – in long sleeves, coats tucked under arms, etc.

The last photos were all relatively the same. The participants were Karen, her daughter, and Karen's parents. The girl, who Drakken figured to be about eighteen at this point, was standing in the middle of the group, once again adorned in cap and gown. Along with the traditional ensemble, she was also wearing a colored sash and rope around her shoulders – signifying that she had graduated with some sort of honors.

He noticed that since the last ceremony, the girl had changed her hair color from black-brown, to an intense and shiny blue-black. Also, an array of small hoops and studs encircled the ridge of her ears; the eyebrow studs remained, too. Drakken couldn't help but notice that, while she was certainly not conventionally attractive, there was something in her facial structure and display that made her hauntingly and beautifully bewitching. Her looks were one of a kind that was for sure.

After the photos of the second graduation the album came to an end. Drakken closed the book, but didn't give it back. He continued to stare at the back cover, not knowing what to say or what to feel. He looked back at Karen, who had watched him nervously as he pawed through the photos. There were shallow pools of tears sitting at the base of her lower eyelids. Belatedly, Drakken realized that similar pools were clouding his vision.

Karen blinked. The motion destroyed the surface tension of the tears, and they quietly streamed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Drew," she said softly, as she brought the tips of her fingers to her mouth.

Drakken blinked away the water in his eyes and set the album back on the table. It felt like he'd been sitting there for ages, but it had barely been ten minutes. He worked his mind furiously, trying to think of something to say.

Finally he came up with the appropriate question, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Karen shook her head slightly. "I dunno," she paused. "I was scared and confused, I guess. I didn't know I was pregnant until I was about two months along," she pursed her lips, trying to explain herself. "You had become distant, and I thought it was something I did. You'd spend your time . . . I don't even know where. I didn't know what to do. I didn't think you wanted a baby, so I left," she finished, lamely.

"So it's my fault? You didn't even talk to me about it," Drakken said. "If you had just talked – "

"Please," Karen spat hotly. "Talked? You never talked to me towards the end. Hell, you'd disappear for days at a time, not tell me where you were going, and come back without a word."

That shut Drakken up. It was true. He would leave Karen alone for two – three days, tops – in the one room apartment they 'rented' together, and he would go wander around. He had been in the process of trying to make connections and break into the villain world. In the months after he dropped out of college, the bitterness he felt towards his former classmates boiled up inside him, and he began to tire of his job at the bicycle repair shop and of playing 'house' with his young run-away of a girlfriend. By the time their relationship had disintegrated, Karen had been eighteen. And Drakken, supposed that, if he thought about it rationally, he couldn't blame her too much for leaving him, and leaving him unaware of her condition.

"What's her name?" Drakken asked, slightly abashed.

"Ronan," Karen said.

Drakken looked at her quizzically. "Isn't that a boy's name?"

Karen's face became icy. "Typically, yes. But there are plenty of names that go both ways: Casey, Alex, Elliot," she paused, smiled and said, "_Drew._"

Drakken frowned.

"It was my great-grandfather's name, and I always liked it," Karen explained with a shrug.

Drakken sat and looked at her, an avalanche of questions and thoughts crashing into his mind. He took up the album again, and began flipping through the photos. He stopped at the pictures from the first graduation.

He turned the book over so Karen could see. "What's this from?" he asked, tapping the picture for emphasis.

"Her high school graduation," Karen said. She paused briefly before she smiled sheepishly, and finished with, "she was fourteen."

Drakken's eyes grew wide with disbelief.

"She's really smart, Drew," Karen said softly. She was still smiling. Part of it was pride, and the other was that she knew he would be ecstatic to hear that his daughter was a genius. "She's really smart. She has an IQ of 165."

"What about this?" Drakken asked, flipping furiously through the album. He was shaking now, and he had involuntarily left his seat as leaned across the table. He stopped at the photos of the second graduation.

Again, Karen smiled with motherly pride. "Her graduation from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. She went there under a special program after high school. She graduated summa cum laude in three and a half years with a double major in mechanical engineering and nuclear science."

Drakken slowly sunk back into his seat. He had never really thought about having kids. Through out his adult life, he had assumed that nature was determined to end his genealogy with him, since he didn't have many significant relationships – besides Karen – to speak of. It really hadn't bothered him. But now, with this news that he had born a child, he was feeling the strangest combinations of emotions: anger at Karen for not telling him, astonishment and fear that he actually had a kid (an adult kid, nonetheless), pride that his daughter was a scientific genius like himself, and trepidation at what Shego was going to do and say when he told her.

He sat in the chair for a moment longer, looking over the photos again. Finally, he said, "I want to meet her."

Karen's smile faded all the way into a frown.

"What's the matter?" Drakken inquired. "You didn't seriously think that I wouldn't want to see her after you dropped this on me!" Finally, his unbridled feelings of anger had sunk into both the conscious and unconscious aspects of his psyche, and his vines began to creep out onto the table.

"Drew! What the," Karen sputtered as the botanical appendages began to slither across the table.

Drakken, who hadn't meant to lose control, quickly backtracked and tried to mentally call the vines back to him. It worked, and the plants retracted back into his body.

Karen stared at him, astonished. She knew from the ceremony pictures that he had this new 'plant power'. But actually being witness to it was slightly unnerving.

Karen sucked in a breath, and said, "I don't know where she is."

"What?"

Karen shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Ronan and I are," she paused, trying to think how to word it. "We're not close," is what she decided to go with.

Drakken looked at her, waiting for further explanation.

Karen sighed, "Growing up, Ronan hit all of her mental development stepping stones, obviously. But she had couldn't – or wouldn't – socialize or play with kids her own age. She was always by herself, except when she got into fights," Karen stopped. "Granted, I probably didn't handle it in the best way, but I was frustrated that I couldn't control my own kid.

"I tried to ground her, take away things, but nothing seemed to work. If it hadn't been for her performance academically, Dad probably would've insisted on sending her to McHenry."

Drakken remembered Karen talking about McHenry Academy when they were together. It was a military boarding school that Karen herself had gone to when she became too much of a handful for her parents. To hear her tell it, McHenry was more a prison than a school: early curfews, uniforms, 'school-certified' guests, and so on.

"My parents helped me to send her a variety of psychiatrists to see if that would help. That's how we found out about her IQ. That was about the only good thing to come from those trips though," Karen's face grew dark.

The look Drakken gave her urged her to continue.

"The long and the short of it is: she has a combative personality. She's a loner, and has aggressive tendencies. Because of that and her age at the time, eight, the doctor's diagnosed her with conduct disorder. Now that she's over fifteen, that's graduated to antisocial personality disorder.

"She was prescribed some medicine. It kept her temper in check, for the most part at least. However, despite her treatment, we still never got terribly close. I suppose it's my fault," Karen said softly. "She used to ask about you, and I never told her a thing. I don't know why, but maybe if I did she would feel less betrayed, or something.

"All of that being said," Karen continued, "after she graduated from MIT she disappeared. I've only seen her about three times since then, and she graduated a little over three and half years ago."

"So why tell me about this now?" Drakken asked. He was still confused about that. If Karen had never told Ronan who her father was, and if Karen was not close to the girl, why bother telling him now?

Karen swallowed. "I saw her last night. She came to the apartment, and brought the picture of you and your partner. She realized who you were. She didn't say whether or not if she was going to get in contact with you, but, given her history, I didn't want to risk her doing something stupid. Besides," she continued, "I feel that _I_ owed you the explanation."

Drakken leaned back in his chair, absorbing the information given to him. In the last few days, he had developed new plant powers, been abducted by aliens, saved the world, been bestowed an international honor, entered a romantic relationship with his partner, and now this. He had a kid. A problematic, genius kid. He began to notice how hot and stuffy the café was. The heat behind his ears had returned, and he felt sweat begin to build up on the back of his neck. His hands had suddenly become cold and clammy. He became overwhelmed with the urge to get up and leave the table. So he did.

Drakken got up from the table and left the restaurant so quickly, Karen had take a second to process the rapid movement. She snatched up the photo album, stuffed it in her bag, and followed him, leaving their food on the table, unpaid for.

Karen burst onto the sidewalk, looking both ways to see where Drakken went. He was a couple shops down from the café, heading in the direction of the Willard hotel. She began to speed walk, trying to catch up with him. As she closed in, she saw that he was on his cell phone, and as she was able to walk in tandem with him, she heard the tail end of his conversation.

"Please meet me back at the suite as soon as you can," he said, and flipped the phone shut.

"Left a message with Shego?"

He didn't answer.

"Drew," Karen said, grabbing a hold of his arm, trying to stop him.

He shook out of her grasp, but he did stop to look at her. "I'm sorry, Karen, but I need to talk to someone who isn't you at the moment."

"So what? You're going to seek the guidance of your twenty-five-year-old childless partner? What is she going to say?"

The two fixed each other with complimenting steely gazes. They stood there as people passed, some occasionally staring at them.

"Drew, I'm sorry," Karen said firmly. She sighed, and said, "I know she wants to meet you. I don't know the capacity in which she wants to meet you," inwardly, Karen had a brief vision of Ronan beating the crap out of her father, "but I'll need help in finding her."

* * *

Drakken and Karen went back to the Jefferson suite at the Willard. He didn't know what else the to do; he no longer felt like site seeing, and he didn't feel like being out in public anymore. He also did not feel like being around Karen at the moment, but he had little choice in that matter. In some deep, dark, paternal place inside of him, he wanted to meet Ronan, and he would need Karen's assistance to make that happen. While Karen didn't know where her daughter was, she would have a better idea than Drakken would as to where she _might _be.

Shego was not back from her spa day yet, so that left Karen and Drakken alone in the large suite. It was awkward to say the least. The anger Drakken felt towards the woman was resurfacing now. How could she not tell him? How dare she make such bold assumptions about him? She didn't even give him the chance to at least _try_ and be a father. He probably would've sucked at it, but he didn't think it was her place to deny him the opportunity. After pacing around the suite's main room, in manner similar to his evil-plotting pace, he tossed himself into a large cushy chair.

Karen was sitting in the chair's mate, on the opposite side of the room. She was completely uncomfortable. In part, she was happy that she had finally bitten the bullet and told Drew about Ronan; that secret, and the guilt associated with it, had been eating away at her for years, and it was relieving to finally have it dealt with. However, she wasn't particularly pleased with man she had inadvertently procreated with. She found damn near nothing attractive about him: he was moody, self-centered, childish, and morally twisted. Karen wondered how and why Shego put up with it.

She wondered why she had put up with it years before. In the past, when Karen had pondered this, she usually chalked it up to her being a disgruntled teenager. She was a seventeen year old run-away, who disliked her parents and disliked the world her family lived in: galas, black and white balls, coming out parties, white debutant dresses and those stupid fans, vacations to Martha's vineyard, Republicans, the list went on and on.

And the more Karen thought about it, the more she realized that Drew had felt the same way. Granted, he hadn't disliked 'her' world, but he was fed up with the one he had come from: A smothering mother, a lack of true friends and recognition, and the expectation to fit into his society's norm. Karen tried not to think too hard about it, but she had to admit that she and he had more in common than she was comfortable in admitting. No wonder they had produced such an emotionally unstable offspring.

The time was now 3:00 in the afternoon. Neither had said a word since coming back from lunch. Karen knew that Drew would want to talk to Shego before they did anything. He had been the same way with her; if something was bothering Drew, he would wait until the end of the day, when he and Karen were both done with work, and endlessly rant to her about his current woes.

Finally, the muffled clinking and twisting sound of a key in a door broke the silence. Drakken jerked out his relaxed pose, and Karen unconsciously dug her short nails into her chair's upholstery. The door opened and Shego's voice came flowing into the room.

"Hey Dr. D! You here?" she asked, as she meandered through the suite's foyer and into the main room. Her arms were decorated with several shiny bags, "You should check out all the free swag I got from the spa! The front desk guy there told me to tell you that you're more than welcome to –"

Shego broke off as she realized that there was a stranger in the suite, and she noticed the dark mood in the room. Her eyes first fell on Karen, flicked to Drakken, and then back to Karen.

"Hello," she said slowly. "Drakken, who's this?"

Before Karen could introduce herself, Drakken grabbed Shego by the wrist and pulled her, bags and all, into his room. He shut the door behind her, and then turned to look at her.

"So who's the chick?" Shego asked, as she began to unload the bags from her arms.

"Um, w-well," Drakken stuttered. He could feel butterflies in his stomach and his fingers twitched at his sides, "she's er-"

"Yo, Dr. D," Shego said, snapping her freshly manicured fingers in his face, "I'm over here."

As Drakken tried to think how to tell Shego the news, his eyes had begun to wander all over the room.

"Sorry," he whispered sheepishly. Instead of actually looking at her, his fell to his feet.

"Doc, get a grip," Shego said. She was masterful at delivering lines that sounded like verbal eye rolls. "We just defeated super-sized aliens and got excused from all our 'bad behavior'. Whatever has you all wound up can't possibly be that bad."

"I have a kid," Drakken said bluntly, and a little louder than was necessary.

Shego's posture and expression didn't change. "I'm sorry, what?"

Drakken exhaled, and said, "Karen is an old girlfriend –"

Shego snickered.

"I don't think you're really in place to make a comment on that," Drakken spat. Shego shut up. "Anyway, I haven't seen her in over twenty years and she showed up today to tell me that I fathered her daughter."

Shego blinked languorously at him. "Are you kidding me?" she asked.

"What?"

"Geez, Dr. D, use your head!" she yelled, tossing up her hands, "You just gained international fame and recognition! You really think that this is a coincidence? I wouldn't be surprised that, within the next couple of weeks, every single girl you tried to ask out in your nerdy youth comes forward and tries to get in your pants!"

Drakken stared at Shego. Honestly, he hadn't thought about that. He supposed that on some level she was right – she usually was, after all. However, as much sense Shego was making, he knew that Karen did not drop this news on him as a means to try and snag herself fifteen minutes of fame. If that was her goal, why not just go directly to various news organizations?

"What makes you think what she says is true?" Shego asked. "Did she show up with some paternity test?"

"No," Drakken answered. "She showed me some photos of her daughter."

"And what? You just believed her?"

"I know she's not lying."

"Drakken, please. Your gut does not have a good track record for being right. That's one of the reasons why Kimmie defeated us so many times!"

"Nnngrh!" Drakken steamed, pulling at his hair. He really didn't need to be berated right now. He just wanted Shego to tell him that things were going to be okay, and that they'll get through it. Internally he winced, as he realized how 'un-Shego-ish' that response would've been.

While the doors of the suite were thick and sturdy, they were not soundproof, and Karen could hear every word of the one-sided argument. She couldn't blame Shego for being suspicious; she would've been if she had been in Shego's shoes. However, Karen was a bit annoyed that she was being accused of lying. Not only lying, lying to gain some scandalous fame. Not having even had a one-on-one with Shego, Karen decided that she didn't care for her much.

As Karen sat, in her chair, she figited: tapping her toes, crossing and uncrossing her arms and her legs. Her mind began to flood with thoughts of her conversation with Ronan the night before. Karen was surprised, but grateful, that she had gotten to Drew before her daughter did. That being said, she wondered where Ronan went after she left the apartment, if she had not gone to find her father.

As Karen tried to drum up ideas as to where Ronan was, there was a knock at the suite's door. Karen lifted her chin from her hand and looked in the direction of the sound. She looked back at the door to the room where Drew had led Shego. Karen heard Drew's voice match Shego's volume. The din that their voices created was now so loud that the volume cancelled out any discernible words. That being said, neither one of them had heard the knock, so it went unanswered.

About fifteen seconds later, whoever was out in the hall knocked again. This time twice, in rapid succession, and more forceful than the first. Karen shifted to the edge of her chair, debating whether or not she should get Drew or answer the door herself.

The choices became null as the door burst open, flying off the hinges, and two men stepped into the suite. Karen shot up from her seat and Drakken and Shego came flying out of his room. Shego was in defense mode: teeth bared and hands glowing. Drakken stood, almost protectively, slightly in front of Karen.

The two men who had entered were both dressed in non-descript black suits, with crisp white dress shirts, and a black tie looped around each of their necks. They looked like your stereotypical CIA agents. The white male's hair was shaven down into an extreme buzz cut, and the intensity of his blue eyes and angled brows would've been enough to persuade a common crook into submission. He was just under six feet, but the top of his long head just barely reached that of his counterpart's shoulders.

The other man was African American, and positively enormous. He had to be at least seven feet tall. Where he had found a tailor to fit a suit to his massive frame was anyone's guess. His face was etched with lines, and the top of his head was as slick as a cue ball.

The shorter of the two eyed Shego with bemused interest.

"Hello," Derek cooed.

"Let's bypass the banter, shall we?" Shego barked. The hotel had promised Drakken and herself that no unauthorized guests would be let up to their suite, and the fact that they had barreled down the door led Shego to rightly believe that they were not friendly company.

Letting out an animalistic snarl, she lurch forward, claws first at the offending speaker. What happened next, happened so quickly that no one was entirely sure what occurred. Once Shego's feet left the floor, she sailed towards Derek. As her body closed in on him, Derek nimbly reached into his suit coat, and pulled out something neither Drakken nor Karen could make out as Shego completed her leaping attack. She and Derek tumbled to the floor, and through the grunts and snarls, there was a muffled 'pop'.

Shego jumped off of Derek and clumsily got to her feet, holding on to the edge of a corner table for support. Her other hand was over her the top of her left breast, near her armpit. In between her fingers, there was a clear, slim vial, the needle of which was stuck into her skin. She tore it from her skin and tossed it across the room as her vision began to blur. She suddenly became hyper-aware of her breath – ragged, shaky, and hollow inside her head. It felt like her body was slowly being filled cement, and her limbs were too heavy to move. Despite all this, she turned back to try and look at Drakken. He was across the room and fuzzy. She tried to lift her foot to pivot towards him, but the movement was too difficult. Her legs twisted her and crumpled beneath her, smacking her head on the floor as she went down. Somewhere above her, she heard Drakken call her name. She tried to answer, but found that her tongue and lips wouldn't work to form words. Her vision was quickly shifting from fuzziness to black. Soon, the only sense she had was that of her breath and heart beat pounding in her head, and, soon, that was gone too.

"What did you do to her!" Drakken yelled, taking a step closer to Derek. Vines were beginning to creep out of his shirt again.

Derek, who had gotten up as soon as Shego stumbled to the table, opened his suit coat again and was about to place his small handgun with suppressor back into his inside pocket when he saw Drakken's vines advancing towards him. Derek quickly took aim and fired. The dart lodged itself near Drakken's jugular. Since Drakken didn't have near the same stamina as Shego, he fell down and passed out immediately.

"You wanna whip out some pain-in-the-ass power, too?" Derek asked, pointing the weapon in Karen's direction.

Involuntarily, Karen's hands shot up in surrender.

"No. No!"

"Derek! Put that away," the black man scolded. He had an accent, but Karen couldn't distinguish it. If she had to venture a guess – solely based on movies and TV shows she had seen – he was from the Sudan or somewhere in that area.

The man slowly walked towards Shego and bent down to check her pulse. Derek stowed away his gun, not taking his watchful eyes off of Karen.

"Who are you?" Derek asked.

Karen didn't answer. She was watching the other man go over the Drakken and check his pulse.

"What did you do to them?" Karen whimpered. Tears were beginning to fill her eyes.

"They are fine," the black man said, taking careful steps towards her. Karen flinched as he came within three feet of her person. He sighed and said, "My name in John-Paul. That's Derek," he said, nodding his back, indicating his partner. "We are here to protect the doctor and the girl."

"Protect them?" Karen said in disbelief.

"Yes – "

"It's complicated," Derek interjected. "And now, even more so, since you're here."

"You're going to have to come with us," John-Paul said, as kindly as he could. "We cannot leave any witnesses behind."

Karen stopped breathing at the giant's words. Her brain scrambled around, trying to come up with a convincing excuse for them to let her go.

"No. Please," she stumbled, "I . . . I have to find my daughter."

Derek's eyes widened. "That's where I've seen you!"

"What?"

"Look, Ms. Anderson," Derek said, stepping forward, "you get two choices in this situation: One, you can come quietly and willingly. Or, two, drugged," he jerked his head in the direction of Drew and Shego's limp bodies.

Karen's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

'_How does he know my last name?'_

Silent tears of confusion and terror streamed down her cheeks.

"Ms. Anderson," John-Paul said in a comforting voice, "I am sorry but you will have to come with us." There was a moment as she looked into his brown eyes. What he said next, he said so quietly that only he and Karen could hear it, "We can take you to Ronan."

* * *

Karen did not question them. She didn't try to run off as they walked through the lobby of the Willard, John-Paul and Derek wheeling a bellhop cart between them that was loaded with two over-sized suitcases that Drakken and Shego were stuffed into. She didn't yell for help as John-Paul assisted her into the back seat of black SUV waiting for them outside in the hotel's looped drive. She didn't try to tuck and roll out of the vehicle as Derek drove it out of Washington D.C., into the mid-Atlantic countryside. She did not fight them as they unloaded her and the suitcases onto the tarmac of a secluded air base.

John-Paul led her towards a solitary private jet parked just outside a hanger; he was wheeling the two suitcases on a pushcart in front of him. Karen glanced behind her, and she saw Derek speaking to an older gentleman by the SUV. The conversation appeared to be all business. At one point, Derek adjusted his coat in such a manner that he must've revealed that he was carrying. The other man stiffened visibly, but didn't concede in any other way. As the exchange concluded, Derek reached deep into his coat again, and pulled out a large manila envelope and handed it to the gentleman. The man quickly peaked inside, nodded, and took Derek's hand, which he had extended.

"Watch your step, Ms. Anderson," John-Paul cautioned.

They had reached the mobile stairs to get into the jet. Karen took a breath and shakily ascended the steps. John-Paul passed on the suitcases to a young man wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a patch on the arm, indicating he was an employee of the case. He wheeled the suitcases to an elevated conveyor belt; loaded them on to it, and the bags were lifted into the plane.

As Karen entered the jet, John-Paul breezed by her so he could catch Drew and Shego before they fell off of the conveyor belt and onto the plane's floor. He gently set each bag on the floor, and unzipped them. He propped Drew up in a chair, and handcuffed him there, with two separate cuffs. He assembled Shego is much the same manner.

"I realize that this all looks bad," John-Paul said, eying Karen's worried expression, "But we aren't here to harm any of you."

Karen didn't believe him. But what could she do about it? There was a sudden pounding of footsteps coming up the stairs, and Derek entered the jet.

"We'll be ready to take off in about five minutes," he said to John-Paul.

John-Paul nodded, finishing handcuffing Shego to her seat, and walked up the aisle towards Karen.

"Please, sit down. I don't want Derek to have to drug you too," he said, sympathetically.

A fresh wave of silent tears glided down Karen's face as she reluctantly nodded her head. She walked passed him, sat a seat down from where Drew was placed, and unsteadily buckled herself in.

John-Paul grimaced at the sight, and sat down in a seat outside of the cockpit. Shortly there after, Derek exited the cockpit and took the seat across from John-Paul.

A minute later, the plane's engines roared to life, and it maneuvered itself down the runway. Karen's stomach lurched as she felt the wheels leave the ground. Maybe she shouldn't of told Drew today.

* * *

**A/N**: Whew! That was looooong! Thanks for hanging in there. I know I said that Kim and Ron would be back, but nooooo... Sorry 'bout that. They _WILL_ be in the next chapter. Promise. Please leave a review on the way out!


	4. Dinner and a Show

Muzzlehatch: Hello there! Thanks for adding me to your subscription. I'm flattered. Yes, Drakken certainly isn't a lady-killer, and he certainly wasn't much of a catch in college. However, that's one of the reasons I made Karen so young (17) when she first met Drakken. I know a few girls who, when we were 17 (I'm 22 now), would date or go out with loser college guys just to say that they were dating an older guy/to piss off their parents. Ain't teenagers grand? Anyway, I will be delving more into their past relationship as the story progresses. Thanks for the review!

zzzoo99: Okay. Here ya go. Thanks for R&R-ing!

kriitikko: Aw, shucks! I really appreciate the compliment. Thank you so much for reviewing again! I wish more people would review, but I know some are reading without reviewing. Which is fine. I mean, I do love reviews (who doesn't, right?), but I'm glad that people are taking interest. Anyway, I hope you find this chapter to be satisfactory :)

CB73: Oh yes, Karen's timing leaves something to be desired :) Thanks for the review!

Neo the Saiyan Angel: Thanks for adding the story to your alert subscription!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any Kim Possible related material.

* * *

The day after the graduation, Nana Possible and Slim packed up to leave. Originally, Nana was supposed to fly back to the retirement facility in Florida, but the recent invasion had left airports and flight zones is disarray, and unable to transport their customers. Luckily, Slim had drove to Middleton in his old pick-up truck, and offered to drive his mother back home before continuing his giant loop back to the Lazy-D Ranch.

As Slim loaded his mother's luggage into the back of the pick-up, Nana embraced Kim is a tight hug, which Kim reciprocated.

"I am so proud of you, Kimberly," Nana whispered affectionately into her granddaughter's ear.

"I love you, Nana," Kim said, holding the old woman tighter.

The two broke the hug and Nana placed a kiss on Kim's cheek. Kim smiled, and watched Nana as she strolled over to her mother and brothers to say good-bye. Next were the Stoppables.

"It was lovely to see you, Ronald," Nana said, taking his hands in hers.

"Yeah, You too," Ron said. Rufus leapt out of his pocket, onto to Ron's hand, and took one of Nana's fingers in his paws, squeaking and clicking sweetly.

Nana chortled, and lightly tapped the mole rat on the head. She turned next to Ron's parents and Hana, who Mrs. Stoppable had perched on her hip.

"Thank you for allowing us to stay with you."

"It's not a problem," Mr. Stoppable said.

"Good-bye, Hana!" Nana cooed, smiling at the baby.

Hana giggled and burbled happily, reaching a pudgy hand towards the old woman. Nana took it, and gave the appendage a playful squeeze and jiggle, which please her to no end.

"We better hit the road, Ma!" Slim called. He had finished loading the car and was finishing up good-byes of his own.

"Stay outta trouble, Kim," he said, with a wink.

"I'll try," Kim promised, hugging her uncle. "Thanks for coming. Tell Joss I say 'hi'."

"Will do," he assured, opening the passenger door for his mother.

He shut the door once Nana had buckled herself in, rounded the hood of the truck, and got in on the driver's side. He twisted the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He pulled out of the Stoppable's driveway, and turned onto the street.

The small group gathered on the Stoppable's lawn watched until the truck was out of sight. When it was gone, Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable, Hana, Jim, Tim and Mr. and Mrs. Dr. Possible meandered back into the Stoppable's home. Kim and Ron lingered behind. They didn't say anything to each other. They simply smiled, clasped hands, and followed their families into the house.

While Hana played 'rockets' with Jim and Tim – a game that involved one the of twins holding Hana over their head while running around the house making 'whooshing' noises, while being chases by the other twin, who would be making '_pew-pew!'_ sounds - the adults were gathered on the patio with a pitcher of lemonade, chatting cheerfully about nothing in particular. Kim and Ron sat at the Stoppable's dining room table. Kim was sifting through the college acceptance letters she was able to salvage from the giant hole where her house once stood. Ron was taking up the letter's she was finished reading, so that he could skim over them.

As he scanned the multitudes of letters, his heart sank. He was happy for Kim. He really was. But, a large part of him was saddened by the prospect of Kim going off to some fancy out of state school. A very small part of him was jealous. He knew that he had not earned the academic requirements to meet the admission standards of several of the schools that Kim had applied to, and he had no one to blame but himself. Sure, in the past he had tried to pass the fault to Mr. Barkin, Ms. Wisp, and other teachers, but he knew the fault was his own.

He hadn't told Kim yet, but he had been accepted to the Middleton Community College. He knew that she would be happy for him, but he hesitated in telling her because he was embarrassed. She seemed bound for greatness, and he was bound for 'Townie-ness'.

Ron sighed. That wasn't even a word. No wonder he had barely passed Language Arts.

"You okay?" Kim asked, hearing Ron's sigh of discontent.

"Huh? What?" Ron said, shaking himself out of his cocoon of self-pity. He hadn't realized he had sighed aloud.

"Oh yeah! I'm fine!" he exclaimed, giving her a smile.

Kim wasn't entirely convinced, but she didn't push the subject.

"I think I need to start making pro and con lists," she said.

"What for?"

"To help decide which school is the best."

Ron nodded and got up, heading to the kitchen to get a pad of paper and a couple pens. He returned to the dining room and he and Kim set to work. They first separated the acceptance letters into piles: In-state and Out-of-state. Then into further piles: Public and Private. Then into cost or tuition and how much scholarship money they had offered Kim to attend. By the end of it, they had a number of neat and succinct piles in front of them.

"What about these letters from MIST and the Upperton University?" Ron asked. He tried not to sound as hopeful as he felt about the idea of Kim staying relatively close to Middleton.

Kim made a face, "Eh. I dunno. I mean, they're good schools and I know Mom and Dad like them, but I kinda want to do something different."

Ron's face fell slightly, but Kim didn't catch it. He unwillingly handed the letter off to Rufus, who put the two acceptance letters aside into a new 'NO' pile. Kim continued to skim through letters, occasionally scribbling on the notepad. Ron picked up a letter from John-Hopkins University.

"Hey, this place is willing to give you a full ride."

"Hmm?" Kim hummed, looking up. She reached out for the paper and Ron handed it to her. "That's cool," she said.

"It's only about a four hour drive from here, too," Ron nonchalantly added.

Kim peered over the letter to look at him. He was busying himself with other letters, but too quickly to actually absorb any of the information. Kim set down the John-Hopkins's letter, reached across the table and grabbed Ron's hand.

"Hey."

Ron bashfully looked up at her.

"I love you," she said earnestly, and she squeezed his hand for emphasis.

He smiled softly. "I love you too, KP."

The sound of the sliding glass door announced the return of the parents from outside.

"Hey there Kimmie Cub!" Mr. Dr. Possible said walking into the kitchen, "Making an headway on the college decision?"

"Not really," Kim sighed.

"Oh my! Look at all these letters!" Mrs. Stoppable awed, staring at her covered dining room table.

"Yes. Our Kimmie has quite a decision ahead of her," Mrs. Dr. Possible beamed, setting a tray of dirty tumblers on the counter.

Kim felt a stripe of warmth across her face. She was feeling slightly embarrassed. Her parents were proud of her, and she was proud of herself, but she didn't like having so much attention drawn to her success in getting accepted to so many schools. It was no big.

"Ronald, have you told Kim your big news?" Mr. Stoppable asked, clasping a meaty hand on his son's shoulder.

Ron winced, and all eyes fell on him. Rufus paused from shuffling papers across the table to stare at his owner as well. Ron had not planned on sharing his own college acceptance quite yet, but his Dad had set the stage for him.

"I – er – I got accepted to Middleton Community College," he said.

His mother and father beamed. Rufus threw up his paws and squeaked, "Yee-ah!"

"That's great Ron!" Kim said. She got up from her chair and wrapped her arms around him. Stunned, Ron slowly returned the gesture.

"Good job, Ronald," Mr. Dr. Possible said, winking and giving Ron thumbs up.

Kim's kimmunicator beeped, and she looked down at her wrist to answer it. The screen flashed to life, and Wade appeared.

"Hey Wade! Guess what!"

"Ron got accepted to Middleton Community College. I know. Way to go, Ron!"

"Seriously. How does he know this stuff?" Ron asked aloud.

"So, what's the sitch?" Kim asked, sitting back in her chair.

"Everything seems pretty quiet," he said, "but I just got a message from Dr. Director."

"Really? I wonder what she wants."

"Probably wants to further investigate this new facet of The Ron Factor," Ron said, leaning back in his chair. "Mystical monkey training is going to be in high demand among GJ agents."

"Ease up on the ego there, mystical monkey master."

"She wasn't too specific in the message," Wade said. "But she wants to take you and Ron out to dinner. She said the families could come, too."

"Okay," Kim said slowly. "Random."

"Are there even any restaurants open?" Ron asked. As soon as Ron was able to, after the invasion and the graduation, he rushed to check the status of Bueno Nacho. He was devastated to find that it had been destroyed. However, as he and Rufus sat on the curb and wailed, a number of construction vehicles rolled down the street and stopped at the demolished site. Turned out, the new Bueno Nacho CEO took no time at all to being reconstructing the flattened restaurants. It would be another couple of weeks before it would be open for service. Each day, Ron made a hasty hatch mark on his calendar, counting down the days until the 'Grande' re-opening.

"Chez Couteaux is actually still open and operating," Wade explained. "Dr. Director said the reservations are for six o'clock tonight."

"Um, okay. Tell her we're looking forward to it," Kim said.

"You got it, Kim." And Wade signed off.

"Everyone free for dinner tonight," Kim asked, looking around the dining room.

There was a flurry of 'Yeses' as the parents all agreed. Once they dispersed again, Kim turned to look at Ron.

"Why didn't you tell me you got accepted to MCC?"

"I dunno," Ron shrugged, "I guess I was kinda . . . embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? Why?"

"It's like I said when we were flying away from Warhawk and Warmonga: you're headed from some seriously great things. And I'm stuck here, going to junior college and cleaning up animal cages at Smarty Mart."

Kim's eyes softened as she said, "Ron, there's no reason to be embarrassed. Lots of people go to a community college first."

"Yeah, I guess."

"C'mon," Kim said, getting up, "I'm tired of thinking about college. Let's go do something fun."

With the help of the Tweebs, Kim and Ron cleared the front lawn of random debris, and set up a badminton net Ron retrieved from the garage. There were four rackets in there as well. Mrs. Stoppable had put Hana down for her nap, so the twins teamed up against the couple.

It was a formidable match up; the twins were inherently a solid team (being identical twins and all). But Kim and Ron had a bond that went deeper than simply biology. They had been best friends forever, they had seen each other at their worst and at their best, and they knew how each other's minds worked. Most of the time, they knew what the other was about to do or say, without given any verbal or physical cue. It was the reason they made such a good team when saving the world, and it was one of the reasons why they had fell in love.

Eventually, the Doctors Possible and Mr. Stoppable came to sit on the front stoop to watch their kids play hands of badminton. They sat around Rufus, who was perched on the first concrete step. In front of him there was a small cardboard apparatus with flappable cards marked with block numbers for keeping score. Mrs. Stoppable had stayed inside to listen to Hana's baby monitor and read her book. As the games progressed, the teams began to mix and match players: Kim and Tim v. Jim and Ron, Ron and Tim v. Jim and Kim. Soon, their parents joined the mix. About an hour into playing, Mrs. Stoppable came out, carrying Hana, to watch.

The last match-up was between the parents, so Kim, Ron, Jim, and Tim sat on the stoop to watch. Ron took Hana to his lap, and he jiggled his knee, sending his sister bobbing up and down. She squealed with delight and clapped her hands.

Sooner than Kim would've cared for, the time fell into the hours of late afternoon, and they would all need to shower up before meeting Dr. Director at Chez Couteaux. So, after the parents had finished their scrimmage, the two families headed inside to get ready. At 5:30 the group piled into both the Stoppable's family sedan and Mr. Dr. Possible's orange coup, and headed out.

The streets were torn up, but relatively empty, so they arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes to spare. Chez Couteaux's parking was nearly completely vacant as well. A couple cars were lined up in spots, but nothing looked like a GJ vehicle. Kim felt a small lurch in the pit of her stomach. What if this was somehow a trap? She didn't know why she thought that. Maybe she was suffering some kind of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from being abducted. No one else appeared weary, so Kim shook away thoughts a kidnap and conspriracy.

As they entered the restaurant, the maître Dee looked up from his podium and said, "Ah, Miss Possible and company, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Please, follow me," he said, waving his elegantly as he stepped from behind the podium and walked towards the back of the restaurant. They obeyed and scurried behind him. He led them to two massive and elegantly carved double doors. From the couple times Kim had been there, she knew that the room the doors led to was reserved for private parties. The maître Dee opened the door and stepped aside to allow the group to pass through.

"Ah! Miss Possible, Mr. Stoppable, and family, I'm so glad you were able to make it."

The speaker was none other than Dr. Director, herself. She was sitting at the head of the long table. Instead of her usual GJ jumpsuit, she was wearing an elegantly understated pantsuit. To her right, Will Du was sitting, rather stiffly and stuffy in his generic black suit. To Dr. Director's left, there was an agent Kim and Ron were not familiar with. She looked to be about their age, perhaps a little older. She was very, very pretty; with olive skin, big hazel eyes which were fringed with dark, fluffy lashes, and long, thick curls of chocolate colored hair.

"Can we get a booster seat, please?" Director asked.

The maître Dee bowed out, and quickly returned with a wooden high chair for Hana. After situating it at the table, and setting Hana inside, everyone took their seats. Kim and Ron sat in the two chairs next to Will, and their families filled out the rest of the table.

"Thank you again for coming," Director said.

"It's no big. Thanks for inviting us," Kim said. She was still wondering why they were there.

"You remember Agent Will Du," Director said gesturing to her right. Will nodded. Apparently he hadn't given up his pompous haughty attitude.

"And this," Director said, gesturing to the girl on her left, "is Agent Minka Carlisle. She was the head of class at GJ's Agent Academy, and has been training under Agent Du for the past six months."

"Hi," Kim and Ron said.

"Hello," Minka said with a smile. If voices had a texture, hers would've been velvet.

Mr. Dr. Possible coughed into his hand, "Uh, Thank you very much for inviting all of us."

"It's my pleasure," Director said. "Kim and Ron's victory is cause for celebration, so why not include their families?"

'_So this is a celebration dinner? That's it?'_ Kim thought. It wasn't like Director to contact Ron and herself for anything less than a mission.

"So if you all would," Director said, picking up her water glass, "join me in toasting Kimberly and Ronald's heroism. Without them, we would not be here now."

Everyone around the table followed suit, raising their glasses and toasting. Kim and Ron exchanged a glance, and smiled at each other.

Soon after, a waiter came into the private room to take their drink orders. Director's toast was as heady as the dinner became. Following that, the room was filled with idle and cheerful chatter. About half an hour after arriving, a line of waiters brought in that evening's entrees. It was delicious; balsamic and honey glazed Cornish hen on a bed of parsnip puree, surrounded by a nest of green beans flecked with bits of bacon.

Instead of eating, Hana was spreading the parsnip puree that her mother had provided her with all over the high chair's table, and Jim and Tim were trying to sneakily take food off the other twin's plate. Rufus sat on the rim of Ron's plate picking out pieces of bacon from the green beans.

Kim and Ron were primarily talking to Minka, who had questions upon questions about the missions they had been on. Will sat silently eating, while Director mildly watched the guests at the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Kim saw this, and couldn't help but feel that a celebration dinner wasn't the only thing she had in mind.

When they were done, the series of waiter's came back, cleared the plates in a manner similar to synchronized swimming. Once they were gone, Director fixed Kim with a look.

She said, "While we wait for dessert, there's something I want to discuss with you, Miss Possible. You too, Ronald."

A hush fell over the table. Director, without breaking eye contact with Kim, held out her hand and Will placed a large manila folder in it. She flicked it open and pushed it between Kim and Ron. The two teens looked down at the papers inside. They were very official looking, with tiny font, lots of numbers, diagrams, black and white photos, and the like. In the upper right hand corner of the folder a photo of a man had been paper-clipped. He looked to be in his late sixties, with a thin pointy face. He wore of pair of wireframe glasses on his slightly over-sized beaky nose. He was bald, save for the horseshoe ring of curly hair that encircled his lower head, stretching from ear to ear.

"Who's that?" Ron asked, pointing to the photograph.

"His name is Artemis Vrishkov. He works for the United States government at Area 51. He is their head Astrobiologist and Xenologist," Director explained.

Kim blanched a bit. Was Director really going to spill the beans about Area 51 in front of her and Ron's families? Sure, she and Ron knew that Area 51 was in fact a top-secret base for researching exteresstial life. She had Drakken and his giant poodle to thank for that. But they had been given strict orders not to expose what Area 51 for what it was.

"Relax, Kimberly," Director chided, noticing Kim's expression. "We just survived an alien invasion, it's no longer a breach of security to say what Area 51 actually is."

"Told you!" Tim yelled at Jim, punching him.

"Boys," their mother drawled in warning.

"Anyway," Director said, drawing her attention to Kim and Ron, "Dr. Vrishkov was kidnapped last night, and Area 51 was raided."

Director was her usual unflappable self as she delivered the news, as if she were explaining how to properly assemble lasagna. Kim and Ron looked at each other, perplexed.

"Why are we just hearing about this now? Shouldn't this have been on the news?" Kim asked.

Will spoke up, "The government did not want to alarm the country further. So they alerted us. As far as we know, the only thing of real value that was taken was Artemis himself."

"As of right now, there is no need for the nation, or the world, to worry," Director added. "However, Dr. Vrishkov is an invaluable asset to our government and nation, especially now in the aftermath of the Warlordian invasion. His intelligence of space is insurmountable and we need him back."

"So, you need our help," Ron slid in.

"Precisely," chirped Minka. "We don't know specifically why Vrishkov was abducted," Ron winced at the word as he remembered Kim being lifted into the sky by a beam of light, "but, given the recent events, it is safe to assume that his kidnapping and the invasion are at least indirectly related."

"Thank you, Agent Carlisle," Director admonished. Clearly, even though Minka was one of the best new agents that GJ had, she was still _new _and still had to follow the rule 'don't speak unless spoken to' – a sign of respect in Director's eyes.

"Why do you need Kimmie's help?" Kim's mother asked. "You have agents for retrieving this doctor, don't you?"

"Yes, we do," Director responded. "But Kimberly and Ronald are both familiar with Lorwardian technology, and since that is also what was stolen – not mention strewn across the globe – their assistance would be helpful."

Out of the corner of her eye, Kim saw Will purse his lips. Clearly, even though they had successfully worked a mission together in the past, he still had trouble working with others. Especially if those others were not part of the Global Justice system.

Kim looked back down at the file. She wanted to help. It's what she did, after all. But she hadn't forgotten about her thought the previous night, about wanting to spend more time with her family before going to college. Wherever that was going to be. She looked to Ron for guidance. She could tell he was having a similar internal struggle. They had just gotten done with the biggest mission of their lives, and now here was Betty Director asking them to enter the field once more.

"Kimmie Cub."

Kim looked across the table at her Dad. He was smiling an all-knowing fatherly smile.

"You know what you have to do."

Kim looked back at Ron, and then at Dr. Director. "Okay. We'll do it."

"Splendid!" Director cried, with more animation than Kim had ever seen in the woman. "We'll discuss the mission further. After dessert."

And, as if on cue, the swarm of waiters entered the room carrying trays of chocolate soufflé.

* * *

Ronan and Sutton had arrived in Middleton, Pennsylvania around seven thirty in the evening. It took them forty minutes to navigate the SUV through the damaged streets before they arrived at the Stoppable residence. Sutton slowed down and stopped squarely in front of house. The windows were dark. He looked down at the clock radio: 8:15 PM. The sun was finally beginning its decent, turning the blue sky a fiery shade of pink.

"They're still at dinner with Director and her cronies," Ronan said, leafing through a pile of folders on her lap. "Angela said that the message she intercepted designated dinner being at six."

Sutton pulled away from the curb, went around the block, came back onto the Stoppable's street, pulled up and parked on the opposite side of the street. There they sat and waited.

"Interesting reading?" Sutton asked after a couple minutes of silence had passed.

"Not really. To be honest, I don't give a shit to learn about these two. I just want to get them to Cornwall and be done with it."

The folders on Ronan's lap consisted of brief synopses about Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable: date of births, ethnicities, family dynamics, levels of education, and mission summaries. Margo had put them together before sending Derek, J.P., Sutton, and herself on their respective pick-ups.

"How are we gonna handle it if they team up with GJ first?" Ronan asked, tossing the files in the back seat.

Sutton shook his head. "Dunno. Rooke has some leverage with Betty, so we might be able to pull that angle. They don't like each other, but they do respect one another."

Ronan reached behind Sutton's seat and pulled out another folder. This was the folder for Drakken. Margo had not made a folder for Shego, for reasons obvious to all the members of Syndicate. Ronan set the folder in her lap, but didn't open it.

"Ro," Sutton said, carefully.

Ronan shook her head. "I don't know why I'm as fixated on it as I am. My whole life I wanted to know who he was," she paused, thoughtfully. "And now that I do, I don't know what to do with it."

Sutton reached across the console, and grabbed Ronan's hand affectionately, rubbing his thumb across the top of it. Ronan didn't look at him, but she curled her long fingers under his. They sat like that for a while, until the beams of six headlights turned onto the street. Both Sutton and Ronan stiffened, and released each other's hands, watching the three cars pull up the Stoppable's driveway. They watched as the Possibles and Stoppables got out of their cars. The third car, an inconspicuous black Bentley, open its doors and Director, Will Du, and Minka exited the vehicle.

"What the," Ronan muttered.

"They're not supposed to be here," Sutton said, stunned. "They were just suppose to have dinner and tell Kim and Ron about the case. Coming back to the house wasn't a part of their message."

"This is going to suck."

"Let's go," Sutton said, and the two got out of the car.

* * *

After they had finished dessert, Mrs. Stoppable invited the GJ agents and their director back to the house for coffee. Director politely accepted for all of them, saying she, Kim, and Ron could discuss the logistics of the impending mission. They all loaded into their cars, and caravanned back to the Stoppable residence.

Upon turning onto Ron's street, Kim noticed a black SUV with unmarked plates and blacked out windows was parked at the curb, across from the Stoppable's home. It hadn't been there when they had left for dinner. For whatever reason, Kim found it odd.

The cars all pulled into the driveway in an organized fashion, and all the drivers and passengers got out of their cars, ready to head inside. Just before the group actually made their way into the house, the quiet night was disturbed by the sound of two opening and closing car doors. Kim looked across the street and saw that the sound had come from the mysterious SUV, and two people Kim didn't know were walking across the street towards them.

The man was ahead. He was young, probably early to mid-twenties, and very handsome. He was appeared to be about six feet tall, with a slender frame. He had fair skin and a dark brown hair that looked like he repeatedly ran back over his head with his hands. The arch of his dark brows enhanced the intensity of his blue eyes. He wore nondescript clothes: dark wash jeans, a heather gray shirt, and a pair of black leather shoes.

His companion was a young woman who appeared to be about the same age as him. She was taller than he, by about two inches. She had one of the most unusual physiques Kim had ever seen. She was too thin for her height, no hips, a small waist, and broad shoulders. Her arms and legs seemed too long for her torso, and it gave her motion an eerie fluidity. She had shaved the sides of her head, leaving a thick strip of tangled blue-black hair in the middle. Her eyes, which were rimmed with coal, were such a light shade of amber that they almost appeared yellow. There was something about her high cheekbones and angular planes of her face that stirred something in Kim's memory, but she couldn't flesh out the thought. Despite it being a warm May evening, she was wearing a dark gray zip-up hoody, tight black jeans that emphasized the thinness of her legs, and combat boots. Two small studs flanked her right eyebrow, and her ears were lined with more piercings.

"Ah. Mr. Queenin and Miss. Anderson," Director said coolly, raising her eyebrows. "What brings you to Middleton?"

"You know what, Betty," Mr. Queenin said; in a tone matching Director's own condescendence.

Director's face fell a bit when her title wasn't used to address her. "So, it looks like GJ's computer systems are going to need to get updated in their security."

"Don't bother," Miss Anderson said. "Angela will be able still hack in to your shitty systems."

"Charming as always," Director rebuked.

Kim and the rest were watching in utter confusion. Clearly, Director was familiar with these two strangers, but to what end Kim could not figure out. The way the dialogue had carried out thus far, they did not appear to be allies. So were they foes then?

"You might as well head back to Cornwall," Will spat. "The Syndicate's assistance is not needed in this operation."

Miss Anderson smirked. "Please. We're not offering. We just here to pick up them."

She gestured to the families behind Director and her agents.

"What do you want?" Kim asked defensively, stepping beside Director. Her hands had balled into fists at her side. She didn't know who these two were, but, for whatever reason, she didn't trust them.

Mr. Queenin spoke to Director. "I don't suppose you have any idea who kidnapped Vrishkov." The way he said this dripped with a satisfied tone that alluded to the fact that he did know who stole Artemis and raided Area 51.

Director's expression did not change, but Mr. Queenin saw a flash of disbelief and irritation flicker in her eye.

"Well, we do," he continued. "We also know that they have their sights set on Kim, Ron, and their families. Not to mention, Dr. Drakken and his partner."

"I don't think they are in any immediate danger," Will said, slyly. "The government and the U.N. have numerous securities set in place for their safety. No one can get to Drakken or Shego."

"Really? Because Derek and J.P. got to them this afternoon; as of right now, they're in the air, heading to Cornwall."

Will's mouth fell a little bit.

"Who's kidnapped Vrishkov, and why are they after us?" Kim asked, stepping forward.

"A rebel group. That's all I can say right now. We should get going; we know they're coming, we just don't know when," Mr. Queenin said. Behind him, Miss Anderson's eyes scanned the group, fell on Agent Carlisle for a moment, and then looked away. "They put a hit on you for much the same reason Betty sought you out; you and Ron have prior knowledge of Lorwardia, their technology and weaponry."

"I don't know why Rooke insists on sending out his associates to do his dirty work, but," Director interjected, "I look forward to hearing the reason. I'll have Agent Carlisle set up a transport to Cornwall."

Kim looked back at Director stunned. Did she really just give in to these people? Minka opened the passenger door to the Bentley, whipped open the console, which concealed a high-tech walkie-talkie. From outside, Kim could hear her make the hasty travel arrangements.

"Wait a minute!" Mrs. Dr. Possible exclaimed. "We can't just get up and leave! We have work. Jim and Tim have summer camp starting in two days!"

"Dr. Possible, I'm sorry, but this takes precedence," Director said over her shoulder. She turned back to Queenin and Anderson, "Tell Rooke I expect a _thorough _explaination. We will transport Kim, Ron and their families to the House, you have my word."

"It's a shame that's all you're good for," Anderson said. She turned on her heel and stalked back to the SUV. Queenin turned and followed suit.

Once the two were in the vehicle, Queenin started it up, pulled away from the curb, and peeled off. The group gathered on the Stoppable's driveway watched as the SUV turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

"What's going on?" Kim asked, turning to Director. "Who were those two?"

"Ronan Anderson and Sutton Queenin. They work for an acquaintance of mine," she explained. "Agent Carlisle."

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"What are the arrangements?"

"HQ is sending a jet that pick us up at Middleton High's football field," Minka recited.

"Very good. Well, we better get going – "

"Wait a second," Kim interrupted. "How do you know what they told you is true?"

"Yeah," Ron added. "I mean, doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that there's no love lost between you and those two."

Mr. Dr. Possible raised his eyebrow at Ron's 'rocket-scientist' comment.

"Indeed, Mr. Stoppable. I don't care for Rooke's 'agents'. Nor do I condone the way they conduct their . . . business," Director ended on an unsteady note.

"Business?" Kim asked.

"Miss Possible, please," Director pleaded. "I will explain everything the best of my ability on the way to Rooke's House. I will tell you this, though: as untrusting as I am about his methods, I will never doubt the news he, or his associates, gives me. If he says you and your family are in danger, you are."

The way Director said this, with affirmation and warning, made Kim zip her lips. After that, little to no hesitation was made. The group piled back into their cars and drove to the now vacant Middleton High. The jet Minka had sent for was already sitting in the middle of the football, engines softly idling. Apprehensively, Kim, Ron, their brothers and sister, and their parents all shuffled into the jet and took their seats. Will and Minka entered next, taking two of the three seats outside of the cockpit. Next, Director came in, and walked down the aisle to the cockpit door. She opened it, had a brief discussion with the GJ pilot captain, and took her seat.

Kim and Ron exchanged a worried glance as the jet's wheels left the ground and launched itself into the atomosphere.

* * *

The first thirty minutes of the flight were flown in complete silence. Even Hana seemed to register the gravity of the situation, and did not coo or babble. Occasionally, Kim would look over Ron's lap at her parents, who returned her anxious glance. When it came down to it, it was Ron who couldn't stand the silence.

"So . . . are you gonna tell us what's going on?"

Director, lifted her head out of her hand, and glanced over her shoulder at Ron. Sighing, she swiveled her chair around to face the rest of the plane.

"Stephen Rooke is the leader of a small group known as the Syndicate," Director began. "It consists of him, his wife Margo, and five associates, for lack of a better word. Two of which you met tonight.

"I don't know much about his workers. There are the brothers, Derek and Sutton Queenin. Angela Pazinski, his sweet little hacker. John-Paul, the gentle giant. And Ronan Anderson, his mechanist and weapons designer. Those are unofficial titles, mind you."

"Weapons designer?" Mrs. Stoppable asked, cautiously.

"Which brings us to the reason I don't particularly care for them," Director acknowledged. "Global Justice works under the same ediquette and understanding of the United States judicial system: Innocent until proven guilty, and no one is above the law. The Syndicate, while there intentions are ultimately good, do not play by the rules. They will step on whoever they need to, and _do _whatever they need to do to achieve their ends. It is not unlike them to consort with and use the villainous world to gain information; Rooke has Jack Hench on speed dial, if you catch my drift."

Kim eyes widened. _'Why would GJ talk to them, then?'_

"The only reason I stay in contact with Rooke, and Rooke alone," Director said, as if she had heard Kim's thought, "is because they do work for the side of good. And because of his connections GJ is able to get a lot more done."

Kim swallowed. She had always assumed that Global Justice was the pinnacle of everything good and just. She was shocked to hear that they consorted with people of questionable motivations and morals.

"What sort of work do they do?" she asked.

"Since Rooke is based in Cornwall, England, they mainly deal with European and Euro-Asian conflicts. I'm not at liberty to say anything beyond that."

Kim sat back in her chair, discouraged.

That was all Director divulged. She swiveled her chair back around, and stayed like that for the rest of the flight. Kim took out the kimmunicator from her purse. She turned it on and was presented with a snowy screen. She sighed, supposing that jet interfered with radio signals that were not GJ certified and cleared.

"What are you thinking?" Ron asked, seeing Kim's face.

"I can't believe this is happening," she whispered. "I just wanted a quiet summer with you, before college."

Her throat suddenly became tight. She furrowed her brow as she tried to push down the upset feelings welling up inside of her. Ron grabbed her hand, leaned over an kissed her cheek.

"Everything is gonna be fine, KP," he promised.

And somehow, she knew he was right.

* * *

A/N: Hello all! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I didn't want to reveal too much. Where's the fun in that? Once Kim and co., along with Karen, Drakken, and Shego get to Cornwall, further explanation shall be presented. Promise. ;) Please R&R! Thanks for reading!


	5. Murder and Rabbits

**A/N:** Wow! I was not planning on posting again so soon, but all I did yesterday was write this and watch movies . . . so here we are. This chapter is purely exposition, so it will shed light on some things. However, Kim, Ron, Drakken, Shego, or any other known characters, while mentioned, are not actually in this chapter. Sorry :( but it needed to be done. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy in nonetheless. Please R&R! Love you guys! :DDD

**JUST FOR FUN DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Kim Possible.

* * *

Jonathan Rain Nichols was not inherently a bad person. Life had just dealt him shitty cards. That's what he felt in any case. Fate had not smiled on him and he did what he needed to do to get by.

He was born on March 21st, 1963 to his mother, Rainbow Tree Nichols, and an unknown one-night stand. His mother, who originally had been born Rebecca Mary Nichols, was one of the first to crusade in the name of Love and Peace in the early sixties. Her efforts, along with several others, would give birth and bring to fruition the Hippie culture of the late-sixties and seventies.

Rebecca had changed her name to Rainbow when she dropped out of college to join a small group of proto-hippies. From there, her life became a marijuana-induced blur of rallies, drugs, and casual sex, which had garnered her her one and only child: Rain.

"He is part of me, and part of the earth, so why not give him part of my name and part of the earth's?" Rainbow had said.

However, giving her son part of her name was about as close to parenting as Rainbow delivered. She was insistent on that Rain was ultimately a child of the Earth, and that Mother Nature would take care of him and her. That being said, the first few years of Rain's life were lived in a small outdoor commune in the wilderness of West Virginia. Rainbow and her son lived in canvas tents with the rest of the 'family'. Their diet consisted of berries and puckery greens they picked from the fields and forests. Since Rainbow, or her family, did not agree with harming any creature, there was no meat to speak of. Because of these poor living conditions and his unbalanced diet, Rain was very sick and weak for the first few years of his life.

Rainbow's mother, Edith Lee Nichols, knew of her daughter's alternative lifestyle. And she did not approve. But you couldn't tell these young people anything. They were only in their twenties, but they spoke and acted as if they had lived for ages and had seen all the world had to offer. When Rebecca first joined her commune, Edith tried to reason with her, but to no avail. All Edith could do was sit back and wait for Rebecca to come to her senses and come home.

However, this changed when Edith heard that Rebecca had born a child. The older woman had kept in touch with her daughter throughout this whole ordeal, so she asked Rebecca if she could meet her grand child. At first Rainbow did not respond to her mother's letter, and it wasn't until Rain was five when Edith first laid eyes on her grandson. She was horrified at how small and frail he was; all skin and bones with sunken eyes. When Edith confronted her daughter about the boy's health, Rainbow calmly explained that the Earth and Mother Nature would take care of her and Rain, and that there was no need to question it. Flustered, Edith returned to her trailer in Token, West Virginia and called the police to report Rainbow for child abuse. While she had been at the commune, she had come to the realization that her daughter was lost to her forever; she would be damned if Rebecca took her sweet grandson down with her.

Over the next couple of days, police apprehended Rain, arrested Rainbow, and transferred Rain into his Edith's care. It wasn't long until the courts saw fit to grant Edith full custody of her grandson. Rainbow was sentenced to six months in jail for child neglect and endangerment. When she got out, she made no attempt to get Rain back, and she returned to her commune. She never saw Rain or her mother again, and, in the early 1980s, she was one of the first to die in the AIDS epidemic.

Soon after moving her grandson in with her, she changed his name from 'Rain' to Jonathan, after her late-husband. There was no way she going to let him keep the stupid hippy-dippy name her daughter had bestowed on him. She did not fully eradicate the boy of the name, though. It was moved a slot down on his new birth certificate and records, making it his middle name: Jonathan Rain Nichols.

With lots of love and proper care and nutrition, Jonathan quickly became vibrant and healthy. He took quickly to playing with the other little boys in the trailer park, and Edith enrolled him in kindergarten at the local elementary school.

For the first few years of his schooling, Jonathan performed very well and he had several friends. However, soon Edith had to pull her grandson out of school. She was sickly and could not afford both schooling and her medications. Jonathan understood. He loved his grandma dearly, and would do anything for her. From third grade on, Edith home-taught Jonathan in their small trailer. His being absent from public school, and having to take care of Edith on her 'bad days', which were many, caused Jonathan to lose several of the friends he had made. He no longer had time to play with the other kids on the black top of the trailer park. He only had time for schoolwork and aiding his grandma.

When Jonathan turned fourteen, Edith was no longer able to even teach him. Her illness gave her vertigo if she moved around too much. That suited Jonathan just fine. He was growing tired of school anyway; instead he got a job at the small general store and gas station a couple blocks down from the trailer park. There he worked behind the counter and as a gas attendant, making money to help support him and his grandma.

As the years progressed, Jonathan watched his peers go through high school, graduate, and head off to college. And he was stuck in Token, a town so Podunk and small that it wasn't even mentioned on the signs that spotted the highway about three miles outside of town. He was bitter. He wanted to go out into the world like the rest of the kids, but he had his grandma to look after. He owed everything to her. Her illness was about the same. She had her good days and her bad days, but she was still alive and functioning.

'_That's what's important,' _Jonathan thought to himself.

And so, he continued to work at the small store and gas station for the next several years. Token remained much the same over that time, the only modifications being the boards that covered store windows when they went out of business.

Jonathan was thirty-five when things began to change. One day, while clearing out the trash bins next to the gas pumps, a long, sleek, fancy car sped down the street. Jonathan had never seen a car like that. He couldn't help but stop and stare. The vehicle's windows were blacked out so he couldn't see who was driving it. He wondered why someone with that kind of money would be driving through Token. Jonathan watched as they driver pulled into the parking lot of Token's one and only bar and restaurant. The driver, a man dressed in an expensive looking suit, got out of the car and strolled into the bar. It was only 2 o'clock in the afternoon, so Jonathan was further confused as to what the man was doing. The people in the bar at this time were the town drunks. Deciding to not worry about it further, Jonathan finished up his task and went back into the store.

At eight o'clock that same evening, Jonathan closed up the store and began to head for home. That was, until he noticed the fancy car was still parked outside the bar. Curiosity got the better of him, and he trotted across the street. He slowly walked up to the car, placed his fingertips on the driver's side window and tried to peer in, but he couldn't see much.

Suddenly, there was a clicking sound and Jonathan felt a cold pressure on the back of his head.

"What the fuck are you doing?" asked a cold voice from behind him.

Jonathan froze. He couldn't move. His eyes flicked to the reflection of the man behind him, illuminated by the orange glow of the bar's neon signs.

"I said, what the _fuck _are you doing?"

Without warning, the stranger flipped Jonathan around, slamming his back into the car door, placing the small Glock under his pointed chin. For the first time, Jonathan got a good look at the stranger. He was the same height as himself. He had a similar build too, although the stranger had more muscle mass than Jonathan did. He had dark hair that was long on top and short on he sides. His eyes were a cold gray.

"N-nothing," Jonathan stuttered, barely making a sound.

"Bull shit!" the man hissed. He pushed the nose of the Glock further into Jonathan's mandible, making him choke.

In the moment, all Jonathan could think about was his grandmother. Who would take care of her if he were gone? All they had was each other. The thought sent Jonathan into survival mode. Without even realizing what he was doing, he hit the stranger's wrist that held the gun with a butt of his hand, which sent the weapon skittering off onto the gravel. Jonathan then grabbed the man's wrists and rammed his head into his assailant's. Both men stumbled back; the stranger fell to the curb next to the bar and Jonathan fell in the opposite direction; next to where the Glock lay. Jonathan looked over and saw the stranger reach into his suit coat. Hurriedly, his grabbed the nearby gun, pointed it and fired.

The shot resonated in Jonathan's ears. He watched in slow motion, as the bullet ripped through the stranger's chest. He paused for a moment and slowly fell over, dead. His hand slid out of his coat. He had been holding a small revolver. Seeing the weapon in his attacker's hand somehow made Jonathan more at ease.

How long Jonathan sat there, he didn't know. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He had just killed a man. No one came out of the bar to investigate. Jonathan figured, and thanked his lucky stars, that there was probably some sports game blaring on the television in the bar that made outdoor noises inaudible.

Jonathan got up, still holding onto the Glock. His head was pounding from the earlier head butt – apparently spending his teen years watching WWF had paid off. He walked over to the dead man and knelt beside him. He had to get rid of the body. Jonathan looked around, trying to decide what to do. Finally, he opened the man's coat and saw the car's keys hanging outside his pants pocket. Making a split decision, Jonathan unlocked the car trunk, and loaded the dead body inside of it. Even though his was relatively spindly, he had gained substantial strength over the years lugging boxes and kegs through the general store. Before he closed the lid, he searched the man's pockets. All he found was his wallet. He pocketed the find and closed the trunk. He got into the driver's seat and started the car.

As casually as he could, he pulled out of the parking lot and peeled away. He had decided to dump the body into the Token River just outside of town. He didn't know what to do with the car yet. Maybe he could sell it, get some money for himself and his grandma. When he reached the river, he pulled the car over onto the dirt shoulder. He parked and popped the trunk open. He got out of the car, lifted the body out of the trunk, and carried it down to the river. He waded into the water, dragging the body behind him. Once he felt the water was sufficiently deep enough, he let go. He watched the body drift downstream, bobbing up and down serenely. He wasn't worried about it being found. The Token River was extremely secluded for the majority of its length, and there was a strong chance that some animal or another would pick it apart before any people found it.

Numbly, Jonathan made his way back up to the car. He sat back in the driver's seat, let out and shaky breath, and burst into tears. What had he done? What had he done? He clasped his face in his hands and wailed. He had just murdered someone. Yes, it had been in self-defense, but then why did he feel the need to conceal the act instead of reporting it to the police.

Through his fingers, Jonathan saw the man's wallet that he had tossed onto the passenger seat before heading to the river. Calming down, he picked it up and opened it. The usual items were inside: driver's license, credit cards, and a bit of cash. More than a bit, actually, Jonathan saw as he thumbed through the bills. There was $550 in the bill pocket, all in hundreds and fifties. Jonathan's heart stopped, and his anguish gave way to optimism. He inspected the driver's license next. He and the dead man, whose name was Mikael Ivan, shared very similar features; nothing identical, but Jonathan would be willing to bet that, if his picture were to placed by this one, an unsuspecting person would guess them to be brothers.

Jonathan's heart began to beat again as he searched through the rest of the wallet. He credit cards in the slots were of the platinum variety, all sleek and important looking. The last thing Jonathan found was a cardstock business card:

Lucas Cutting

The Black Rabbits

Jonathan turned the card over, but there was nothing on the back. He tucked it back into its slot, and took off, heading for home. His mind was racing. It was interesting how his thoughts could turn from those of dread into ones of hopefulness. This man, this Mikael Ivan, was important, and it was Jonathan's good luck that he happened to look like him. He could see nothing wrong with borrowing Mikael's name and money for the time being. He wouldn't buy or do anything over extravagant, he would just buy his grandma's medicine, and replace a few items around the trailer that had fallen in disuse. Perhaps this situation would work out after all.

The next day, Jonathan drove the black car out of town to a shady car resale store. The owner of the establish was infamous for crooked under-the-table trade offs, and Jonathan knew that, with a car of that quality, their would be little questioning. The car, which turned out to be some kind of Ferrari – the name meant nothing to Jonathan – netted him a small, gently used 1990 Corolla and $10,000. On his way back to the trailer, Jonathan stopped off at a department store and bought a set of fancy cloth napkins he knew his grandma had been wanting.

"Oh my goodness, Jonathan!" the old woman squealed as he presented her with the gift. "Where did you find these?"

"The JC Penney over in Fairmont," he said.

She looked at him. "How did you afford these?"

"Overtime," he quickly lied. "And I've been saving up. I was finally able to afford a car, too," he jutted his head in the direction of the trailer door, indicating the Corolla that was parked outside. "I was thinking maybe you and I could take a day trip to the coast when you're feeling up to it."

"Oh that would be lovely!"

Later that week, Jonathan went to the barbershop to get his shoulder length brown hair cut in a style more similar to Mikael's. When the old barber was done, the likeness between the two men was uncanny. Jonathan thanked the barber and handed him the real Mikael's card. The barber took it without question.

* * *

The next month, Jonathan carried out his life in much the same way as he had. He continued to work at the general store, and he took care of his grandma. He did, however, drive out of town to do the grocery shopping. Instead of simply bringing old, expired canned goods home from the store; he used Mikael's credit cards to buy good, organic, name brand food. He also transferred his grandma's prescriptions to a new out-of-town pharmacy so that he could buy the medicine with Mikael's cards without question. When asked for ID, he was more than willing to show the clerk Mikael's license, knowing that there would be no dispute.

One day, after spending the afternoon out of town, picking up a few things for the trailer, Jonathan's masquerade came to a close. As he entered their home, carrying brown bags of china, his eye caught the figure standing at the end of the trailer. He turned his head in the direction of the sight, and he dropped the bags. The china fell to the linoleum floor and shattered.

At the far end of the trailer a tall willowy man stood. He had a thin, gaunt face with small brown eyes and hollow cheeks. He was balding, but the little hair he had around his head was gelled back flat against his skull. To his left, Jonathan's grandma sat in one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was agape. On the other side of the chair, a child stood looking at Jonathan. She couldn't be more than twelve, with tan skin, big hazel eyes, and shoulder length brown hair. An empty pill bottle was clasped in her small hand.

"Mr. Nichols, I presume," the man said in a slow, dangerous voice. "Or is it Mr. Ivan now?"

Jonathan's stomach went cold. Whoever these two were, they knew that he had stolen Mikael's identity.

"What did you do to my Grandma?" Jonathan asked. He hadn't stopped looking at her since he entered the trailer.

"Oh, she's fine," the man said, coolly. "Anya here just gave her a sedative. She should be up in about an hour or so."

"Who are you?"

"Don't you remember, Mr. Ivan?" the man's eyes flashed crazily. "You work for me."

Jonathan wasn't quite sure how he was able to piece the thought together but he said, "You're Lucas Cutting."

Lucas smiled, his thin lips pulling across his yellowing teeth unpleasantly.

"Look," Jonathan said, hastily, "I'm sorry I took your friend's money –"

"Money? Mikael wasn't worth a dime," Lucas said snidely. "You've been using _my _money."

"I can get it back."

"No no no no no," Lucas muttered, sidling towards Jonathan. "That's not a problem. I have plenty of money." Lucas wrapped a thin arm around Jonathan's shoulder, digging boney fingers into his flesh.

"The problem is," Lucas continued, "I'm a man down. I don't intend for you tell me where Mikael is-"

By the way Lucas said this, Jonathan could tell that he knew that Mikael Ivan was dead, and he wasn't overly concerned with it.

"But, J.R.," he knew Jonathan's name, "I do intend for you to take his place."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lucas asked, letting go of Jonathan's shoulder, "If you want to make this identity transition complete, you'll need to take over Mr. Ivan's work! What's more," Lucas continued, "there will be no need to hide the identity. You will be able to be you; not Mikael Ivan."

Jonathan considered what he was being told. "What will I do?"

"Whatever I tell you," Lucas whispered coldly. The sound sent shivers up and down Jonathan's spine.

"Of course," Lucas said, tone shifting to something more pleasant, "the job is not without benefits. I will personally make sure that your grandmother here is provided with full-time proper care. Isn't that what you want?" Lucas asked coyly, turning to look at Jonathan.

He couldn't think what to say. What was happening? He didn't understand what Lucas Cutting wanted him to do. But the way Cutting spoke made Jonathan feel as if he had little choice in the matter.

"Mind you," Lucas added, "if you should try to refuse, there will be severe consequences."

The girl – Anya – shifted besides the chair. She reached into pocket of her sweater and pulled out a small plastic case. Inside, Jonathan could see a syringe and medical vials. He wasn't sure what that meant. Lucas saw the confusion on Jonathan's face and became annoyed that he didn't understand.

"Anya," Lucas said, turning to the child, "what do you say we put this old bird out of her misery?"

At his words, Anya opened the case and began to prepare the syringe.

"NO!" Jonathan yelled. He stepped forward, and a hard, solid weight knocked him down. Internally, he felt a rib crack. He looked up to see Lucas holding a stout billy stick.

"Okay. Alright," Jonathan wheezed, "I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want. Just, please, don't hurt her."

"Very well, J.R.," Lucas quipped. Anya stopped what she was doing, and tucked the case back in her sweater. He put the billy club back in his long black coat, and held out a hand for Jonathan. He helped the fallen man up and said, "Good choice! First thing's first, we will get your grandmother situated in a proper nursing facility. Then we will discuss your position."

Lucas Cutting was a man of his word. That same day, he footed the bill to put Edith in Spring Creek Assisted Living, a top-notch retirement facility outside of Grafton, West Virginia. Afterward, he took Jonathan and Anya back to the trailer. There he explained the position.

"I own you," Cutting began, folding his hands on the ratty kitchen table. "If you want your grandmother to continue to receive the best possible care, you will do whatever I say, no questions asked."

Jonathan sat across the table, watching Cutting carefully. "Who are you? Really?"

Cutting smiled that horrible smile again, "Alright. Alright," he sighed before continuing, "I am the founder of the Black Rabbits Society."

"I've never heard of that."

"I'm not surprised. One, you're a hick from West Virginia. Two, it's a relatively . . . subliminal organization," Cutting finished, rolling the words in his mouth as if they were some sort of candy.

"What does that mean?"

"I am a very powerful man, J.R.," Lucas explained, "I do all sorts of things. But the most important thing I do is leading. I get things done. For the better interest of the general public."

Jonathan still looked confused.

"I am working on uniting the world under one secular government. This place is a mess. The world, I mean. People who have no business leading are, people are degrading and defiling their countries with Neanderthalian customs and religions. Most of the world is filled with animals, and they either need to be caged or put down."

Jonathan squinted. This guy was more bigoted and self-righteous than any person he had ever met.

"So, what?" Jonathan asked, "You're planning on taking over the world?"

"Precisely."

This guy was also crazier than Jonathan had previously thought.

"However," Cutting sighed, leaning back in the rickety chair, "I realize that seems highly problematic. How can one man rule billions?"

Jonathan didn't know how to answer.

"So, I keep my friends close and my enemies closer, as the saying goes," Jonathan wasn't entirely sure what he meant by the saying. "I have given millions to organizations I deem worthy, and I have my hands in several political, racial, and religious conflicts around the world. At some point the lesser populations will surrender or die. By that time, I hope my reach will have spread appropriately."

Jonathan could feel butterflies in his chest. Was Cutting talking about cultural genocide? He remembered his grandma briefly covering World War II and the Third Reich when she was teaching him history.

"Are you talking about white supremacy?" Jonathan asked.

"Oh heavens no!" Cutting chuckled. "I'm simply talking about eradicating people who do not have the world's well being in mind."

'_Like you,'_ Jonathan thought sourly.

"I still don't understand what I'm supposed to do."

"Well, to be frank, I need you, as well as the others under my employ, to carry out the more 'unpleasant' work," Cutting explained, making a face. "You see, I have several social obligations that limit my time out in the field. I also have a child to care for and teach," he gestured to Anya, who was sitting silently on the trailer's musty old couch. "You will be paid handsomely, and, as agreed, your grandmother will be looked after."

Jonathan watched Cutting attentively. He didn't see a way out of this. He didn't really know that was a bad thing; his grandmother would be taken of and he would have a higher paying job than he did now.

"Okay," Jonathan said. "I'm in."

"First thing's first," Cutting responded, "we need to wipe your footprints out of the West Virginian and American government."

He took out a cell phone from inside his coat and dialed a number. Jonathan didn't quite understand what was being said, but he gathered that another of Cutting's lackeys was given the job of stealing his birth certificate, academic records, tax forms, and other such papers that proved of his existence. Cutting was going to virtually erase him from the world's history.

Soon after, Cutting, Jonathan and Anya left the trailer and went outside to a black car – similar to the one Ivan had – that had appeared while they were in the trailer. They all got in. Cutting in the driver's seat, Anya in the passenger's, and Jonathan in the back. As they drove away, Cutting flipped open the sun visor and grabbed a small clicker looking object hidden there. He pressed the button, and a loud _BOOM! _erupted from behind them, as the trailer went up in flames.

* * *

Some years later, Jonathan, now more commonly known as J.R., became an experienced hand at carrying out Cutting's work. It mainly consisted of shaking people down for money that they owed Cutting. While Cutting was rich on his own, as J.R. found out, he had accumulated additional wealth by providing various families and organizations with protection and aide. These people were all over the world: third world countries, big cities, poor, rich.

Occasionally, he had to kill people. After his fourth body, the action lost its shock-value and became almost second nature to him. The longer J.R. worked for Cutting, the more dangerous and hostile his jobs became. He began working within several of the worlds' black markets and drug cartels that Cutting had his hands in. He was truly a very secretly powerful man. He was relatively unknown in the world. Even in the world's more powerful governments – in America, Britain, and others – no one had heard of him, or had any idea of his atrocities. Not even the United Nations or Global Justice were aware.

As Cutting had hypothesized, the world was not easily graspable. And J.R. doubted that his employer would ever achieve his goal of world domination. But that wasn't of his concern. All he cared about was making sure his grandma remained cared for. She was still at Spring Creek, however, within the last couple of years, her health had deteriorated quickly. She was now bed ridden and suffered from dementia. Sometimes, when J.R. was able to visit, she wouldn't even recognize him, and it killed him on the inside.

With the Lorwardian Invasion in May of 2007, Cutting saw his chance to kick his plan of global dominance into high gear. After that young woman, her monkey-possessed boyfriend, the deranged failure of a villain, and the green vixen had defeated the aliens, he was struck with an idea that would surely secure the world for him. His mind raced as the pieces fell together in his head. The Lorwardian attack had been swift and ruthless, just as he had imagined his own attack on the world. Luckily, some of his employees had already secured some of the downed alien technology. But he had no way to know how to use it. He would need people familiar with the Lorwardians and alien technology to assist him.

He was sitting at his large mahogany desk when the idea struck him. He reached for his phone and punched in a number. There were two rings before the line was picked up.

"Yes sir?" came a sultry voice.

"Hello Anya. We're going to need a pick up on Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable, Dr. Drakken and Shego," Cutting said flatly, as he read their names off of a newspaper.

"Will that be all, sir?" Anya asked.

"Yes, my Love. I will have J.R. organize a group and pick up the rest."

"Very good, sir," and Anya hung up.

Cutting smiled cheerfully as he set the phone back in its cradle. He opened a door in his desk and took out a file. He had kept meticulous records of various people around the world that could one day prove useful to him, and he knew exactly whom he needed. He picked up the phone again, and dialed the number for the cell phone he had given J.R.

"Yes sir?" J.R. answered, after barely one ring.

"I need you to go Nevada and pick up something for me."

"What would that be, sir?"

"I need you to organize a group to go to Area 51 and pick up Dr. Artemis Vrishkov and their stock of Lorwardian technology."

There was a pause before J.R. said, "Yes, sir," and hung up.

J.R. flipped shut his phone and looked down at it blandly. He was currently at Spring Creek, paying his grandmother a visit. He wanted to make sure she was okay following the invasion. She was. However, she also did not seem to know that an alien invasion had taken place. Her dementia made her clueless to the happenings of the outside world. As upsetting as this was to J.R., he was partly thankful for it since it prevented her from asking about where he went all the time. She didn't need to know that he worked for a criminal mastermind.

J.R. went back into her room. She was propped up in bed, watching the television set bolted to the wall.

"I have to go, Grandma," he said, stepping to her bedside.

She slowly turned her head to look at him, "Okay, honey. Good-bye."

He leaned in, kissed her forehead and left. He breezed down the halls of the assisted living facility, and out into the evening air. He got into his car and made the call.

"Yeah?" came the brute voice on the other line.

"Wallace," J.R. said, "Cutting wants us to go pick up a Dr. Vrishkov at Area 51."

"Consider it arranged," Wallace said and clicked off.

J.R. drove away from Spring Creek and headed in the direction of a small, seemingly abandoned farm. As J.R. pulled up the dirt drive, a grizzly looking man came out of the dilapidated structure. He turned off the car's engine, and went to meet the older man.

"Hello Mr. Nichols," said the man in a hoarse voice.

"Gerry."

Gerry opened the barn door for J.R. and the two men went in. Inside, there was a small plane that he would use to fly himself to Nevada and meet the group Wallace was arranging.

Before J.R. boarded, Gerry stopped him and said, "Please tell Mr. Cutting I will have his money by the end of next month."

"You're payment is due in two weeks," J.R. warned. "If the money is not wired into his account, I will have to come back. Do not make me come back."

Gerry swallowed audibly and released J.R.'s arm.

Once in the cockpit, J.R. started the engine, pulled the small aircraft through the barn doors, and lifted it up into the air. He didn't pay any attention to when he left West Virginia, but he landed at the designated airstrip at 10:00 PM.

As he leapt out of the cockpit, Wallace, a stout burly man with a baldhead and a wile beard, greeted him.

"Hope you don't mind," Wallace growled, "but we took the liberty of apprehending an army convoy heading towards the Area."

Behind him, J.R. could see the rest of the rapscallions Wallace had assembled, and beyond them three big army issued trucks, each loaded with several hundred pounds of alien debris. The army officers that had been driving the trucks were tied up and blindfolded off to the side, being monitored by more brutish thugs carrying large machine guns.

"Good," J.R. said.

"There is also a larger aircraft carrier in that hanger over there," Wallace explained, nodding in the direction of massive steel building several hundred yards behind J.R., "so that when we're all done, we can just load up everything we take and get it to Cutting."

"Very good. What time is Area 51 expecting that shipment?" J.R. asked looking at the trucks.

"In about an hour."

"Then we best not waste anymore time."

That being said, J.R., Wallace, and eight of Wallace's men piled into the three trucks and started off towards Area 51.

It was about 11:00 before the base came into sight; J.R. could see the dots of light posts surrounding the Area 51 compound. The building was still about a twenty-minute drive away, but J.R.'s heart began to pound. No matter how many times he did a job, he always got excited. He didn't know where the feelings came from, since he didn't particularly care for doing it, consciously at least. Perhaps there was some dark part of him that was deranged, like Cutting. Maybe subconsciously a monster lurked.

Soon, the convoy approached the Area's gate. A Black Rabbit decoy, whom had taken the post of the Area 51 gate guard, greeted them happily. J.R. handed him an envelope of cash, and the guard opened the gate. As they pulled through, J.R. saw an old man standing at the concrete docking bay of the compound, waiting for them. He knew that was Vrishkov. Wallace stopped several yards in front of the bay, headlights blaring on the old doctor. J.R. put on a gas mask, got out of the truck and rounded the hood, knowing the bright backlighting of the trucks headlights would conceal his identity.

"Artemis Vrishkov?" he asked.

"Yes?" the doctor said.

At his side, J.R. snapped his fingers. The signal caused the men in the second truck to launch a gas bomb into the air. It exploded with a bang and a soft white mist rained down. Artemis collapsed immediately, and the rest of the faux convoy leapt into action. They quickly lifted the doctor's limp body and stuffed him into the first truck. They then entered Area 51's lab facilities, wielding heavy machine guns and gas grenades.

They raided Area 51 with ease. J.R. found their security to be a joke, hardly a challenge. The secured all they could, and, what's more, they left survivors. Once the raid was over, J.R., Wallace, the raiders, and what they stole drove back to the airstrip to transport their assets back to Lucas Cutting's headquarters in Sardinia.

Once the large aircraft carrier was loaded, the selected pilot steered the plane down the runway and up into the air. J.R. sat back in his seat, resting his eyes. He idly wondered what Cutting wanted with the doctor and all the Lorwardian scrap metal. He supposed he would be somewhat informed once they got to Sardinia. So, he let the thought go, and drifted into sleep.

* * *

Artemis Vrishkov awoke slowly. He had a massive headache, and his sinuses were burning. He felt his glasses askew on his nose. He readjusted them and groggily looked around the room he was in. No windows, concrete floor and walls, one door. He was lying across a damp and limp mattress. Belatedly, he realized that there was a man sitting on a black chair in the far right corner.

Once Vrishkov found his voice, he asked, "Where am I?"

"You don't need to trouble yourself with that information," Cutting replied. "You're safe. That's all that matters."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Lucas Cutting."

Vrishkov licked his lips. He suddenly became aware of how dry his mouth was. "What am I doing here?"

"Well, you see, Dr. Vrishkov," Cutting began, "I need your help with something –"

"And you thought the best way to do that was kidnapping me, is that it?"

Cutting's face fell slightly. "Dr. Vrishkov, you should be honored that I sought you out."

"Why is that?"

"Because," Cutting smiled, "you are the best! And I need the best."

Vrishkov squinted at the man. His head was pounding and his eyes were begging him to close them, but he needed to know what was going on.

"I need you to help me," Cutting began, "use the Lorwardian technology to take over the world."

Vrishkov stared at him. "You're mad."

Cutting's face fell into a full frown. Then, as if a switch had been flicked, he raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in an 'oh well' fashion and got up from his chair.

"Very well," he said. "I'll have your return arranged."

He turned and headed for the door. Right before he put his hand on the handle, Cutting paused and turned to face Vrishkov once more.

"By the way, Dr. Vrishkov, how are your niece, Alexandra, and her boys, Misha and Igor?"

This time, Vrishkov's face fell. How did this man no about his niece and great-nephews? He didn't like it. The way that Cutting had said their names made his stomach twist. It had been a simple question on the surface, but underneath it was riddled with threats and promises of death.

"Are they still in Moscow's North-Eastern division?"

Vrishkov swallowed. His hands clenched the mattress beneath him. "Alright," he whispered, defeated. "I'll help you."

"Good choice," Cutting asserted. And he left, locking the door behind him.

He ascended from his mansion's basement, into the main of the grand house. He went into his study and was greeted by the sight of J.R. sitting lazily in one of the leather high-backed chairs.

"Thank you for picking him up."

"What'd he say?" J.R inquired.

"It took a little arm twisting, but he's aboard," Cutting said, gliding behind his desk and taking a seat.

J.R. knew that Cutting had used Vrishkov's family as leverage, just as he had used J.R.'s grandmother to get him to do what he wanted.

"Anya hasn't called has she?" Cutting asked, going over some of the papers on his desk.

"No. Why?"

"She's supposed to be arranging the pick up of that rag-tag crew that defeated the aliens. They should be useful, as well," Cutting explained.

As if on cue, Cutting's phone buzzed, alerting him of a text message. He picked it up and slid the screen open. The backlight exposed the text that Anya sent:

SYNDICATE GOT THERE 1st.

Cutting's nose wrinkled in disgust. Rooke's Syndicate was a troublesome bunch, and he would be damned if they got in his way.

* * *

**A/N: **I will hopefully start work on chapter six today, and have that up by the end of the week. By the way, if anyone is interested, I have a devART account where I am/will be posting Syndicate drawings. The link is on my profile, if you want to take a gander :)

Please don't forget to leave a review on the way out! Much love!


	6. Hangovers and Aunts

CB73: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you caught Agent Carlisle's over interest, 'cause, ya know, it's gonna be important and stuff. I'm also grateful you liked the last chapter as well, and I really appreciate the review for that one. I wasn't anticipating too many reviews for that chapter given that none of the KP characters were in it, so I whole-heartedly thank you!

kriitikko: Thanks for your review! Unfortunately, a Drakken/Ronan interaction is not in this chapter. It will be in the next one! If I had included it in this one, this chapter would've easily been 30 + pages. Thanks for the review!

**A/N: **So this is the chapter I introduce my idea of Shego's REAL name O_O. Just so you know, 'Saoirse' is pronounced: Sur-shea. The more you know . . .

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Kim Possible characters. I do own the non-Kim Possible characters.

* * *

The first thing Shego noticed was how dry her mouth was. Then the headache; the excruciating, pounding headache. She tried to will herself to open her eyes, and found that they were so heavy that she actually had to focus all the energy she had on lifting her eyelids. As light began to pour in, she could see the fuzzy interior of the jet. The colors were too bright and highly contrasted, and the sight caused her brain to ring with one, powerful pound. She moaned as the resonating feeling made her eyes cross.

The soft sound filled the silent jet and Karen, John-Paul, and Derek turned in their seats to look at her. Karen shifted in her weight, debating whether or not to get up. John-Paul breezed passed her and headed to the back of the plane. He passed Drakken and Shego, and went to a small shelf just behind their seats. The shelf had a stack of paper cups and a 4-quart carafe upon it. He took one of the cups and filled it with water. He then kneeled by Shego's side, whispered something to her, and gently tipped the cup to her lips – the handcuffs that restrained her hands in such a way that she would not be able to serve herself. With mild hesitation, Shego tilted her head back and took a small gulp.

Karen saw her to struggle to swallow what she had taken. Once she did, John-Paul set the cup in the holder of the seat. He said something else to her, placed a large hand on her shoulder – Karen saw Shego's eyes flick to the touch with an expression of distain – and he got up and went back to his seat.

As he walked by Karen she grabbed his wrist. He stopped at looked at her, questioningly.

"Uh," Karen stuttered, realizing she wasn't sure what she wanted to say. "Is it alright if I – er – talk to her?"

John-Paul looked back at Shego, who had curled over, head in her lap, hands tangled in her hair.

"It's up to her," he said, and continued back to his seat.

After he was gone, Karen slowly got up and made her way to the seat across from Shego. Shego looked at her through her fingers and hair, and slowly sat up with a groan. Her green eyes were blood shot and her skin was a sickly shade of puce.

"What?" she croaked. Next to her, Drakken let out a muffled snore, still under the effects of whatever drug Derek had injected him with.

Karen had never been good at confrontation, and she was surprised to hear herself say, "I wasn't lying to Drew."

Shego's eyebrows rose slightly. Surprised at hearing this woman call Drakken by his real name, and at her very direct matter-of-fact tone in calling Shego out.

Karen swallowed nervously when Shego didn't respond.

Finally, Shego said, "Really?" in a snide, sarcastic quip.

Karen felt an irritated bubbling inside her chest; Shego still didn't believe her.

"I don't have to prove anything to you," Karen snapped. "He knows I'm not lying, and your opinion on the matter is completely irrelevant."

Shego's eyebrows rose further up her forehead - a motion that made her head tick with pain.

"Let me see the photos," she said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"The photos. The photos!" Shego cried exasperatedly. "Drakken said you had photos."

Karen furrowed her brows, and dug around in the bag next to her. She came up with the small album and placed it in Shego's lap. Luckily, Shego's hands were movable enough to flip through the pictures. Karen saw her grimace slightly at the first few pages, and watched as the expression grew into something angry and confused.

The initial grimace that Shego gave was due to the time stamps of the first few photos. Particularly, the year: 1985. She was three in 1985. For whatever reason, when Drakken had first told her that he had a kid, she had pictured a teen Kimmie's age or younger. This child was just a few years younger than her, and that fact stuck deep in her dignity like a thorn. In the past, she barely gave the age difference between her Drakken a second thought. Even when they had been in the throws of sex the night before, and in the morning, the thought that he was nineteen years her senior never crossed her mind.

He was Drakken. _Her _Drakken. His age was completely insignificant. He never acted like it, so why did it matter? That's what she tried to convince herself at any rate, in that moment, looking at the pictures of Drakken's daughter. However, the tingle of self-awareness and self-consciousness planted a nasty little thought in the back of her mind.

As Shego progressed through the album, utterly vexed, she could not deny the similarities between the girl and Drakken. Her facial structure, her expressions, her posture, they were all his. In each photo, Shego could pick out at least one of Drakken's attributes.

Once she had turned the last photo, she closed the cover, and handed it to Karen. She cautiously took it, noticing the pained expression on Shego's face. She wasn't sure if the album had made her upset or if the drugs in her system were making her uncomfortable. They sat in silence as Shego stewed over the news.

"Do you want some more water?" Karen asked, unable to take any more silence.

Shego snapped her eyes onto Karen, but didn't say anything.

"I just want you to know, I didn't tell Drew as a means to cause problems or gain fame," Karen said firmly.

"So why tell him now?"

Karen sighed. She really didn't feel like having this conversation _again_. "Ronan – that's her name – came to see me the other night to basically tell me that she knew Drew is her father. She didn't out-rightly say she was going to look for him, but I figured I should be the one to tell him, not her. So, that's what I did."

Drakken shifted next to Shego, but didn't wake up. The two women sat in silence again, until Shego voiced another question.

"How long have we been in the air?"

"I dunno," Karen answered. She looked down at her watch. "I wasn't really paying attention when we took off. About six hours I guess."

Even she was surprised at the time. It hadn't felt like it had been six hours, and her heart pounded at the fact. If they had been flying for six hours, they must be going out of the country.

"Did they say to where?" Shego asked. Karen shook her head. "HEY! DICKHEADS! WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE GOING?" Shego yelled to the front of the plane.

The sudden outburst finally jolted Drakken out of his drugged stupor. He screwed up his face, clenched his teeth, and fell forward into his lap, gripping his head. Once he was down there, he let out a strangled cry.

"Sheeeegggooo," he whimpered.

The exclamation gained Derek and John-Paul's attention. They both turned in their seats: Derek looking annoyed, John-Paul appearing slightly amused.

"We're heading to the Lizard Peninsula; to Mullion Cove in Cornwall, England, Miss Gordon" John-Paul replied with a slight smile.

Shego's eyes widened a bit "What did you call me? How do you know my last name?" she demanded.

John-Paul smiled and turned his back to her. "Things will become clear in due course, Miss Gordon."

Shego ground her teeth. She didn't know how these two knew her last name, but it annoyed her to no end. She hated being reminded that 'Shego' was merely a façade, a protective casing for her true identity. Her hands drawn into themselves, making fists, but no green plasma came.

Drakken leaned back in his seat groaning, his eyes clenched shut.

"What happened? Why does my head hurt?" he whined.

"We've been kidnapped, genius," Shego snapped. She still had her eyes set on the back of Derek and John-Paul's heads. Derek turned his head slightly to listen to their conversation. "The big guy told me that we were drugged with . . . something. I don't remember the name of it. But it's some kind of sedative that works on a cellular level so that it curbs our powers along with knocking us out."

"Here," Karen said, reaching for the cup of water at Shego's side, and carefully tilting it to Drakken's lips.

Shego couldn't stop herself from feeling a quick pang of jealously as Karen invaded Drakken's personal bubble.

Drakken gratefully accepted the drink, although, like Shego, he had difficultly in swallowing what he had taken. Once he had enough water to suffice, Karen set the now empty cup back in the holder, and sat back in her seat. She noticed that his eyes were also blood shot and the green undertones of nausea had made is skin a weird shade of turquoise.

He leaned back in the chair, breathing in slowly through his nose. His head was pounding and he was trying to focus on not throwing up.

"How long have we been here?" he asked, not knowing that Shego had asked the same not a minute earlier.

"A little over six hours."

"If you all could sit tight for an other hour or so, we should be close to landing," Derek relayed over his shoulder. "And the nauseating side-effect's of the drug should be worn off by then, too."

Once again, the jet fell into silence. Talking upset Drakken and Shego's current states, so they sat in silence. At one point, Drakken closed his tired eyes and his head lulled to one side and came to rest on Shego's shoulder. She stiffened as she saw Karen's eyebrow rise at the movement.

As promised, about an hour later, the 'fasten seatbelts' sign lit up, and plane began its descent. Outside the windows, the three could see that it was dark. They had all been to England at one point or another, Karen with her parents when she was young, and Drakken and Shego when they had been carrying out one nefarious deed or another. They all knew that, given the time they had taken off from the small base outside of Washington D.C., that it was in the wee hours of the next morning here. Surprisingly, Karen did not feel tired, and neither did Drakken or Shego, now that the effects of the drug were beginning to wear off.

With a steady 'bump' the wheels of the jet touched the tarmac, and it gently rolled forward along the runway until it came to a stop. As the motion stopped, John-Paul and Derek got up from their seats; Derek headed for the cockpit and John-Paul made his way to the back to where Karen, Drakken and Shego were sitting.

"Feeling better?" he asked the handcuffed duo.

"Yes," Drakken said weakly. Shego said nothing, but she fixed him with an icy glare.

John-Paul stared into Shego's angry green eyes, unfazed by her optical hostility.

"I can release you both, if you promise to be good," he explained.

Drakken nodded in agreement. Shego said nothing. John-Paul took her silence as submission and he went about unlocking the cuffs with a key he pulled from his pocket.

Once they were free from their restraints, Shego shot up from her seat, hands balled into fists at her side, almost on her tiptoes, physically challenging John-Paul. She was trying with all her might to ignite her fists into green plasmid balls, but her glow wouldn't come. John-Paul did not return her advancement; instead he looked at her with pity.

"Please, Miss Gordon," he pleaded, "I'd rather you be conscious when we arrive."

Shego would've liked to take the statement as a threat; it would give her a reason to punch the giant man in the mouth. But what he said was a genuine plea, and she found she couldn't bring herself to assault him. Behind her, Drakken grabbed one of her wrists.

"Shego, please listen to him."

Shego continued to look into John-Paul's brown eyes, and finally said, "Why doesn't my glow work?"

"That will take another couple hours to come back," he explained.

"Everything alright?" Derek asked. He was back from the cockpit. His hand was placed on the lapel of his coat in preparation to remove his dart gun if need be.

"Yes," John-Paul answered. "Come on. We mustn't waste more time."

Derek opened the plane door and began to walk down the stairs that had been placed against the jet's exterior. Karen, Drakken, Shego, and John-Paul, bringing up the rear, were next to exit. A cool, salty breeze blew through the dimly lit hanger. Outside it was still dark, but a soft blue could be seen along the horizon promising the arrival of morning.

At the hanger's open doors, there was an old beat-up flat bed truck. An elderly man stood next to it. He smiled a toothless grin as the group approached.

"Morning!" he slurred in a thick English accent; not having many front teeth left him unable to make the hard sounds necessary to make the word easily understood.

"Morning Reg," Derek replied.

"Reginald Smithers," the old man said, tipping his ratty cabby hat to the three newcomers. As he did so, he eyed Karen. "I thought Mr. Rooke was only havin' yer pick up the doctor an' 'is partner."

"Me too," Derek said, stepping into the bed of the truck, he was closely followed by John-Paul. "She happened to be in the same suite when we made the pick-up."

"Well, the more the merrier," Reginald chimed opening the passenger door of the truck. He folded the front seat forward and stepped aside. "Ladies first!"

Karen and Shego exchanged a look before they crawled into the back seat of the truck. Reginald unfolded the front passenger seat and stepped aside again, allowing Drakken to slip in. He closed the door with a forceful slam, walked around the truck and got in on the driver's side. He twisted the key in the ignition, the engine sputtered to life, and they pulled out of the hanger.

Shego glanced behind her, through the partition, and saw Derek and John-Paul standing in the bed of the truck, sleek deadly rifles in their arms.

"Did yer sleep any on the plane?" Reginald asked loudly. The three could see the eerie blue glow of the truck's digital radio. The time was 4:20 AM.

"You could say that," Drakken replied. Reginald chuckled, for no particular reason.

"Um, excuse me," Karen said, leaning forward, "you wouldn't happen to know why we're here, do you?"

"'Fraid I don't, Ma'am," Reginald answered, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. "I'm just Mr. and Dr. Rooke's groundskeeper. I occasionally help with pick-ups and the like, but I generally steer clear of gettin' too involved in their business."

Karen sat back in the seat. Reginald continued to look at her in the rearview mirror, exchanging glances between her and road ahead.

"If you don't mind me askin'," he spoke up, "what's yer name?"

"Um," Karen warbled, wondering if she should lie. She didn't see what good that would do her, though. "Karen."

"Anderson? Yer not Ronan's Mum, are ye?"

All three passengers sat up slightly. Karen leaned forward again, "How do you know that?"

"It's in yer mouth an' eyes. The shape of 'em, not the color," Reginald explained. He flashed a quick look over at the seat next to him, where Drakken was watching him intently.

"In fact, she looks a lot like you," Reginald continued, shifting his eyes back to the road. "Same face shape and all, 'cept prettier 'course," he chuckled. "You wouldn't 'appen to be this long-lost father I keep hearin' her talking about to young master Sutton, would ye?"

Drakken's voice caught in his throat, unable to answer the question. It had been all well and fine when Karen had been telling him he was a father, but actually saying the words himself were indescribably difficult. In his head, he knew that he was a father, but saying it, admitting it, somehow made it irreparably concrete, a permanent state of fact that he wouldn't be able to take back.

"How do you know her? Ronan," Drakken asked finally. It was not lost on him that that was the first time he had said her name: Ronan. A weight of disappointment appeared in his stomach as he skirted answering Reginald's question.

Karen sat forward even more, awaiting his answer. Shego sat back in her seat, arms crossed, an all too familiar jealousy welling up inside her.

"Aye, she also works fer Mr. Rooke," Reginald explained, "doin' all sort o' work. Buildin' an' fixin' things she does. She's a crafty little tinkerer."

"Who's the other person you mentioned? Sutton?" Karen asked, almost pleaded.

"Derek's younger brother. Recruited Ronan, he did. They're close, those two. Thick as thieves!"

"What did he recruit her for?" Karen asked, nearly leaving her seat. "Will she be where were going?"

Reginald made a face, "Now, ya see, I've gone an' said too much. Not my place. Mr. Rooke will explain it all once we get to the Manor."

And after that, he squeezed his lips shut, creating a long line across his wrinkled face. Karen sat back into the seat, and Drakken looked down at his lap. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder at Shego. She was sitting, stiffly, with her arms crossed, glaring at a point on the seat in front of her. He wanted to say something to her, but didn't know what.

At the same time, he felt the weight in his stomach shift, like it was rolling side to side. If Ronan worked for this Mr. Rooke – whomever he was – and they were heading for his Manor, then odds were good that he would meet her. He hadn't been lying when he told Karen he wanted to meet her, but now that the moment was fast approaching he was getting nervous.

It was 4:40 AM before any of them spoke again. As they approached towering black trees, Reginald cried, "Here's the drive!"

The truck descended into the tunnel of curved trees, and the predawn light was shut out. The darkness lasted for a few hundred yards, and as they broke into the hazy purple early morning light, the outline of a large manor house stood half a mile out. The drive twisted and turned unnecessarily during the approach, and it took nearly ten minutes, all told, to finally pull up to the Manor's front stone steps.

Reginald put the truck in park and got out. Before Drakken could open his own door, Derek had leapt out of the truck bed and did it for him. With slight hesitation, Drakken slid out of his seat. Derek folded the chair and held out a hand for Karen. She took it and hopped out of the vehicle. He held out the same hand to Shego, she didn't take it, and instead she brushed passed Derek with unnecessary force, causing him to take a step back. Once on the ground, she placed herself in the space between Drakken and Karen.

"I'll be seein' yer 'round, I expect!" Reginald cried, getting back in his rickety truck. He started it up and drove down the other side of the drive, heading towards a series of sheds and a greenhouse.

Derek and John-Paul waved after the old man, and then turned to the three visitors.

"Come on then," John-Paul said, shuffling them forward, up the grand stone steps and to the massive, ornamentally carved wooden doors.

Derek, who had leapt up the staircase, took hold of the large bronze knocker and tapped it two times against the bed. Even from outside, they could hear the taps resonate inside the front room.

Not a few seconds later, there was a mighty shifting and grinding noise, and the door opened silently. A plump woman wearing a maid's uniform answered the door. Her fly away gray hair was pulled back into a French twist, and the wrinkles around her face alluded to a kind demeanor.

"Oh Derek! John-Paul!" the woman exclaimed. She, too, had an English accent; though, not as rough and cockney as Reginald's. "You're back! All in one piece, I see," she ended with, eying the three newcomers.

"Morning Ms. Walsh," Derek greeted as he entered the Manor. The other four followed him in as Ms. Walsh opened the door fully.

The front hall was positively enormous and grandiose, with tall, carved Oak columns lining both sides and a large, sweeping staircase in front of them. For a brief moment, Drakken, Shego and Karen forgot about their current predicament as they drank in the sight of the lavish room in front of them.

"Let me go and fetch Mr. Rooke from his Study," Ms. Walsh said, scurrying away into one of the rooms that led off from the hall.

No sooner had the old woman left, that someone else made an entrance

"You're back!" cried a light, girlish voice, and a teenage girl came flying down the staircase. She came to a leaping halt as she reached the bottom.

She was very short, barely five feet tall. Despite her height and her high-pitched voice, the shape of her voluptuous body put her age at least in the late-teens. Her eyes were a twinkle of cornflower blue, and she had long jet-black hair with streaks of fire engine red running through it. Splashed across her chest, there was an elaborate, colorful tattoo of a De Los Muertos skull, and other colorful designs were inked into her arms, and her bare feet. She also had bucchal piercings and a small silver hoop was looped through her nose's septum. Even with these hard-core bodily decorations, she appeared to be approachable enough.

"Hi!" she said brightly to Drakken, Shego and Karen. "I'm Angie."

None of them returned the greeting, and Angie's glowing smile faltered slightly. She turned her attention to Derek and John-Paul next.

"Any trouble?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"Nope," Derek replied. "You get any new information?"

"Eh," she shrugged. "Ronan and Sutt made contact with Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable, but –"

"But?" Derek asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows.

"Director got there first," Angie explained. "So long story shor – "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Shego interrupted, waving her hands as she stepped forward. "Are you telling me that the rest of your little dog and pony show is picking up Kimmie and bringing her here too?"

"Man, you're cranky," Angie observed.

"AM I?"

"If you had let me finished," Angie sneered, "As I was saying, Ro and Sutt are heading back alone. Director is bringing Kim, Ron and their families."

"Great," Shego sighed. "Not just Kimmie, but the whole famn damily, too."

"And Director," Drakken added, sourly.

"Yeah, and Director," Derek muttered in accordance. Drakken blinked at him. Had they just bonded a little over a mutual dislike of Betty Director?

"I don't suppose you're planning on telling us _why _you dragged us here?" Shego voiced, irritated.

"Of course we are," came a new voice. A tall, medium-built man stepped into the hall. He appeared to be in his late-fifties, although his close-cut hair and beard was still a natural, light, ashy blond. He seemed over dressed for nearly five o'clock in the morning, wearing a fine navy blue suit and a light blue button up.

As he approached, he continued, "However, it would be pertinent to wait for the rest of the company, so as to not unnecessarily go over the same material twice."

Shego, who had grown increasingly sick of Drakken and Karen's lack of offensive action during this whole ordeal, marched towards the man.

"Mr. Rooke, I presume," she snarled. As she did this, John-Paul took a defensive step forward, but Rooke waved a hand at him, indicating it was all right. "I would consider it a great favor if you were to enlighten us on why you sent your henchmen to drug me and Drakken, and flew us to Reptile Peninsula –"

"Lizard," Angie corrected.

"And now have us locked up inside your Pride-and-Prejudice-Faulty-Towers-Monty-Python – " Shego had worked herself up into such anger-driven hysterics that she was beginning to rant. Drakken had never been more proud.

"Saoirse."

Shego stopped mid-yell and looked over to the other side of the hall as she heard someone say her name, her real name. Without anyone taking notice, another person had entered the gathering. She a slender, fifty-some year old woman, with a strong jaw, dark blue eyes, and dark brown hair that had been cut into a stylish angled bob. Like Rooke, she was overdressed for the time, in a black pencil skirt, a cream chiffon blouse, and stylish, but no-nonsense, black pumps.

She fixed Shego with a withering stare and said, "That's enough."

Shego continued to stare at the woman. It was an expression that Drakken had never seen on her before - some weird mix of disbelief and submissiveness. The woman took a couple steps forward, her heels tapping along the darkly stained wood floor.

"This is my wife, Margo," Rooke introduced.

Margo stepped towards Karen and Drakken, holding out a finely manicured hand. With mild hesitation, Karen took it. Margo smiled at her warmly and went to greet Drakken. As she did, however, Shego stood closely by his side. Somehow he could feel the heat of her agitation wafting from her, like it was some kind of perfume. The sensation warned him against taking Margo's hand, so he didn't. Margo's smile did not waver as her hand went unshaken. She simply dropped it and went to stand by her husband.

"I believe that Ms. Walsh has prepared some coffee and breakfast," Rooke said. "You all must be hungry."

As if on cue, Drakken stomach rumbled loudly. Shego closed her eyes slowly, embarrassed for them both. Angie giggled, and both Derek and John-Paul smirked.

"If you will follow me." Rooke turned on his heel and headed through a doorway and out of the room. Derek, John-Paul and Angie followed after him without a second thought. Drakken, Shego and Karen exchanged a glance and began to timidly follow behind the others.

"Saoirse," Margo said again. All three of them stopped and looked at her. Margo crooked a finger at Shego, indicating she was to follow her, turned on the thin heel of her shoe and started out of the room.

Shego took a step forward, and Drakken touched her lightly in the small of her back. The sensation sent tingles up Shego's spine and she stopped.

"Shego," Drakken whispered. "Who is she?"

Without looking at him, she said, "She's my Aunt." And Shego continued to follow Margo.

* * *

Shego trailed after Margo down a hallway, and into a large room. The heavy curtains had been opened and pinned back, the beginnings of morning light streaming through the windows. The walls were, themselves, large bookshelves; save for a door at the rear right hand corner of the room that led to another. There were a couple stuffy looking chairs and a chaise longue. In front of a bay window, Margo took a seat behind a large marble-topped desk. She gestured to one of the chairs facing her, and Shego took a seat. As she did, she noticed a large, fluffy, tortoise colored cat sitting in her chair's partner. He blinked at her, unimpressed, hopped off the chair, and strolled away.

"That's Turtle," Margo began, "I'm sorry you had to be drugged to get here, but please believe me when I say it was for your own good."

"Really? How's that?"

"As Stephen said, we'll elaborate more once Miss Possible and Mr. Stoppable get here. However," she teased, "I'll give you a little sneak peek.

"We – and by we, I mean Angela – have garnered significant proof you, Dr. Drakken, Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable are in danger of being kidnapped again."

"So, as a preventative measure, you decided to kidnap us instead?" Shego rhetorically asked.

"I know, I know," Margo sighed. "It seems rather round about, doesn't it?"

"So what? The Lorwardians are coming back?"

"No. A hit has been put out on you four by a secret organization called The Black Rabbits."

"What do they want?" Shego asked, squinting.

"Information. You, Drakken, Kim and Ron know more about the Lorwardians than anyone else on the planet. We're not sure yet, but we believe that The Black Rabbits are planning on using the fallen technology against the world."

Shego rolled her eyes, "So, you want us to save the world _again?_ I know you've been out of the Gordon-family loop for a while, Aunt Margo, but here's an update: I'm evil now!"

Margo scoffed, "Please, Saoirse. You don't know the meaning of the word."

"And you do? You're a psychiatrist, you deal with crazy people, not evil people."

"My dear, it appears you know as little about me, as I do about you," Margo drawled. "Yes, I am psychiatrist with my own practice, but I am also the number two in Stephen's Syndicate."

"Stephen's what?" Shego asked.

"Syndicate. Lazily defined as a group of individuals or organizations combined or making a joint effort to undertake a specific duty or carry out specific transactions and negotiations."

"No offense, Aunt Margo," Shego said, "but that sounds really shady."

Margo chuckled, "Indeed. But to put it more succinctly, we're a lot like Global Justice. Just on a much smaller scale, and," she paused, trying to word the description appropriately, "we're not as morally bound."

Shego made a face, "So it _is _really shady."

Margo shrugged, "We do what we need to do to make sure the world is relatively safe. If that means breaking some judicial and moral laws to sustain greater ones, than so be it."

"Does Dad know about this?" Shego asked next.

"No. Unlike you, I'm a little better at keeping my business under wraps," Shego frowned at the jab. "Considering that his daughter is a former world-renowned criminal, I'm sure it would break my little Police Chief brother's heart to know that his big sister heads a secret vigilante program."

Shego involuntarily nodded in agreement, as her eyes began to wander around the room. Her mind was once again drifting to Drakken, Karen, and he girl that joined the two.

"What's on your mind, Saoirse?" Margo asked, after a minute of watching her niece haphazardly glance around her office.

Shego snapped her head back to her aunt. "Huh?"

"What's bothering you? I mean, besides being 'kidnapped'. I know that's not the only thing on your mind."

Shego pursed her lips, unwillingly to share what she was actually thinking about. The thoughts made her feel stupid and vulnerable; characteristics she loathed.

"Let me guess," Margo began, when it became clear Shego wasn't going to share, "you know about Ronan. Who she is, I mean."

What little color was in Shego's face drained. Damn, she was a good psychiatrist.

"And I also know that Karen, her mother, was brought along in a spur of the moment decision," Margo paused, placing her elbows on the arms of her chair and folding her hands in front of her. "You're very possessive, Saoirse. And proud, so I know you'll never admit this, but you're jealous that Karen knows Drakken in a way you never have, and that she is forever joined to him through Ronan."

Shego's nails dug into the denim of her jeans as her Aunt picked away at her, a spiny heat developing behind her eyes and in her throat.

Margo cocked her head to one side and continued, "You really care for him, don't you?"

There it was again: She cared for Drakken. What did that matter now? She had admitted to herself the night before, and had even gone so far as to sleep with him. Because she cared about him more than she had ever cared about anything. The thought, while not new, still astounded her. Shego wondered if her Aunt realized how much Drakken meant to her.

Apparently, she did, because the next thing she said was, "You love him, don't you?"

Shego's eyes grew wide. "WHAT?"

Margo shrugged. "To me, it's really the only thing that makes sense. I have kept track on you over the years, so I know what he's put you through. And you've never left him longer than a couple weeks. You were forever at his beck and call, even after work hours, going to karaoke and what have you. You risked your own life to go to space to find him.

"Also, I should specify that there are several kinds of 'love'. Romantic love. Sibling love. Infatuation. Love between friends," Margo listed. "However, given you're reaction to the statement, my professional guess would be the first."

Color was rising in Shego's cheeks, and she was balling her hands into tight fists.

"I don't know why this upsets you," Margo droned. "It's clear he reciprocates. They way he looks at you. The way he touched you before you came here. His behavior is that of a lover – "

"Please don't call him that." Shego had always hated the term 'lover'. She would've much preferred for Margo to say 'guy who fucks you' than '_lover'._

"Therefore, your jealousy of Karen is partly unfounded. From the information I've been given, that relationship has long been laid to rest."

"Where'd you get that information?" Shego asked skeptically.

"You know very well that I'm bound by the Hippocratic oath," Margo chatted coyly.

Shego rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," Margo started, getting up, "we better go join breakfast. Come."

And with that, the two women left the room. Being led by Turtle who had been patiently waiting at the Office door.

* * *

**A/N: **That's it for now! I have three tests this week, so I probably won't get around to starting chapter 7 until Thursday at the earliest. Please don't forget to leave a review. I loooooove them :) Thanks, readers! Have a good week!


	7. Fathers and Daughters

**A/N: **Man, this chapter took forever to write, and I'm still not entirely happy with it :( Oh well Cie la vie, oui?

Anywhoooooo... I just want to take the time right now to say how utterly appreciative I am for my regular reviewers: CB73, kriitikko, and zzzoo99. You guys are awesome and you keep me going! I wish I could say that I don't care if people review or not, but I will admit I'm a review whore. I love 'em, and I'm trying to get better at leaving them to the stories I read because I know how much they're appreciated :)

A note or two about this chapter. A few rebel groups are mentioned in this chapter: the IFA and the Black Fingers. These are plays on the IRA and the Black Hand society. The IRA (Irish Republican Army) was a group from Ireland fighting British oppression, and the Black Hands were responsible for the murder of Arch-Duke Franz Ferdinand, an action that eventually led to WWI. The more you know!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! PLZ R&R! :)

PS - I actually took the time to make chapter titles. If you cared :-P

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Kim Possible character. I am not making any profit from this story.

* * *

The flight to the United Kingdom didn't take as long as others Kim had taken there. She figured that the Global Justice jet had been equipped with specialized jets or fuel that transported them faster than a normal commercial airliner. Her dad could probably tell her what and how the jet had gotten them to Cornwall so quickly, and he probably would've been tickled to discuss the scientific logistics if the circumstances were different.

It was 7:30 AM when the GJ jet's wheels brushed along the smooth tarmac of the small air base. The morning sky was a weird cross of overcast and morning haze; periodically the sun would glimmer through the thinner portions of clouds, causing the dew speckled across the pavement to sparkle.

As the jet came to a halt, Director got up from her seat and made for the jet's door.

"Stay here," she ordered, as she opened the hatch and exited.

The group remained in their seats, exchanging worried, tired, and perplexed glances. They all, at some point during the flight, had fallen asleep. However the little rest they got was insufficient and the youngest of the group – Jim, Tim, and Hana – were getting fussy.

Rufus, who was the only one to get more than a few hours shuteye, stretched out of Ron's pocket, yawning loudly. He scurried up Ron's arm to his shoulder and perched there, making a few squeaks and chirps while pawing his stomach.

"I'm hungry, too, buddy," Ron sympathized as his stomach let out a quiet gurgle.

It had been about seven hours since their dinner at Chez Couteaux, and the combination of a long flight and little sleep had made the passengers not only tired, but hungry as well.

Hearing of Rufus' plight, Minka got up from her seat, and went to a small drawer a few feet away. Opening it, she pulled out a small bag of GJ issued airline peanuts. She closed the drawer, walked the few feet over to Ron and handed him the small bag.

"Here. It's not much."

Rufus snatched it greedily, used his teeth to rip the plastic open and happily chewed the contents.

"Knowing Rooke, he'll probably have breakfast waiting for us," Will said, getting up from his own seat.

"Thank God," Tim muttered leaning back in his seat. His twin nodded in agreement and did the same.

While they waited for Director to come back from whatever she was doing, Kim fiddled with her Kimmunicator again to see if she could reach Wade. No such luck. She growled with frustrated tiredness, and leaned her head back on the chair, covering her eyes with her hands. Ron could think of nothing to do except wrap an arm around her shoulders and bring her into a one-sided hug.

As they parted, Director entered the cabin and said, "Everyone please follow me."

The party filed out of the jet and into the large hanger. At the mouth of it, a van marked with the Global Justice insignia was parked waiting for them, an unremarkable agent patiently waiting behind the wheel.

As they approached their ride, another vehicle could be heard driving its way up the road. From where they were, they could see an old dark red flat bed truck rolling its way towards them. When it was about twenty feet from the hanger, the driver parked it and got out. He was an elderly man, in dirty bib-overalls, flannel shirt and tattered cabby hat.

As he walked towards them, he touched the tips of his fingers to the bill of his hat and said, "Mornin' Dr. Director. Fancy seein' you 'ere."

He spoke in a slur of vowels with a heavy-handed English accent. He smiled, revealing gums.

"Mr. Smithers," Director greeted, somewhat coldly. "I'm afraid we won't be requiring your assistance this morning. We can transport the Possibles and Stoppables to the Manor just fine, thank you."

"Alright then," Smithers said, shoving his callused hands into his pockets. "That's fine n' dandy. I just wait on Sutton and Ronan, shall I?"

"I suppose you shall," and Director got into the passenger seat of the van.

Will and Minka opened the side doors, and allowed Kim, Ron, and the rest to pile in before getting in themselves. Once everyone was buckled, the driver started the van and pulled away from the hanger and out of the base. Kim and Ron both looked behind them and watched Smithers watched the reproaching van.

"Who was that?" Ron asked turning back in his seat.

"Rooke's groundskeeper, Reginald Smithers," Director languidly answered. "He does odd jobs for Mr. and Dr. Rooke outside of tending to plants."

"Doctor?" Kim asked.

"I suppose this would be a good time to mention that Stephen Rooke is married to Doctor Margo Gordon," Director continued.

"Really?" Mrs. Dr. Possible gasped.

"Who's that?" Kim pondered.

"Kimmie, Dr. Margo Gordon is one of the world's leading psychiatrists," her mother gushed. "It could be argued she's the best in her field."

"Which is?"

"Criminal profiling and behavioral and personality disorders," Director interjected. "It should also be noted that you know her niece and nephews."

"Huh?"

"Shego and her brothers. Margo is there aunt," Minka explained.

Kim's mouth fell open slightly. This whole situation just got slightly weirder.

"Now, I have to ask you all," Director began, her tone becoming all business, "that when we get to the Manor, that no one is to speak unless spoken to, and if you are asked about the invasion or Dr. Vrishkov do not answer. I don't want Rooke to get any information, unless _I _give it to him. Understood?"

All the heads in the van nodded as they approached a tunnel of trees. It wasn't long until the foliage cleared and they could all see the massive Manor house about half a mile down the drive. As the van traversed the gravel way, Kim observed the land outside the windows. It was fairly ordinary: slight rolling hills specked with small, well-pruned trees. In the distance she could make out a wrought iron fence that seemed infinitely long, bordering Rooke's property from the surrounding land. Behind the Manor, Kim could see large hedges disappearing further into the property. She lazily wondered how many acres made up Rooke's plot.

The van finally pulled up to the front steps of the house. Director got out, and Will and Minka followed, opening the doors for the other passengers. As they all gathered outside the van, one of the large wooden doors opened and an old woman stepped out of the manor. She was dressed in a muted gray woolen dress with a pristine white apron tied around her neck and wide waist.

"Good morning," she sang.

"Ms. Walsh," Director introduced, "the Rookes' housekeeper. Thank you Agent Smith," she called over her shoulder to the driver of the van. Smith nodded, turned the ignition and pulled away from the group.

"Best hurry up," Ms. Walsh pushed. "While the breakfast is still warm."

She shuffled the group inside the large front room and closed the door behind them. Kim, Ron, and the rest drank in the understatedly classic décor of the place with wide, impressed gazes. Director and Will, who had been there before, remained unmoved. Minka's face registered nothing.

"Follow me, please," Ms. Walsh commanded, moving into an adjoining room. Director led the way as they obliged the request.

The group walked through various rooms and hallways that were in keeping with the authentic 19th century class of the front room: halls lined with ornate Persian rugs, sturdy, richly carved wood furniture, and vintage kerosene lamps that had been converted to electric.

Finally, they reached their destination: a large dining room. A long table of wood and marble sat at the center. A decent spread of eggs, toast, a carafe each of coffee and orange juice, bowls of jam and clotted cream, and a large tureen of fresh fruit lay across the table.

Even though Kim knew Drakken and Shego were going to be here, she felt a jolt of surprise to see the two sitting at the table. They sat next to one another looking entirely uncomfortable and tired. Bits of toast and egg were on each of their plates; Shego's looked like she had just hacked at it with her fork, whereas Drakken was nibbling at a piece of toast crust.

The rest of the people at the table Kim didn't recognize. To Drakken's right, a woman with dark brown hair, green eyes sat watching the newcomers cautiously. Next to her there was a girl who looked to be about the same as her and Ron. She was plastered in colorful tattoos and the occasional glint of a piercing. On the other side of the table, two men sat. One, who was shoveling toast topped with eggs into his mouth, looked rather like Sutton Queenin, Kim noticed. The other was an enormous black gentleman, who greeted them with a fleeting, but warm, grin.

The final two Kim assumed to be this 'Mr. Rooke' and Dr. Gordon. Rooke, a middle-aged man, with white blond hair and beard, sat at the head of the table; to his right a very attractive middle-aged woman with blunt bobbed hair sat, sipping at some tea.

"Here you are, Dr. Director," Ms. Walsh said, pulling out the chair opposite to Rooke's. Director took it and scooted forward. The rest were left to pull out there own seats. Kim and Ron took the seats facing Drakken and Shego.

"Morning, princess," Shego drawled lazily.

Kim frowned at Shego. She didn't know how she knew it – maybe it was because she had spent so much time with Drakken and Shego, and had watched them interact, and had learned their strange dynamic – but she could tell something was different between the two. Perhaps it was the way they seemed to inadvertently lean near one another, an action that caused their arms and hands to occasionally brush against each other. Surely their legs and feet were touching under the table as well. At once, Kim knew what was different. The stunt that Drakken's vine had pulled at the award ceremony wasn't a fluke. Her suspicions were correct: her foes had a thing for one another. And given their close proximity to each other, they either had or were toying with the idea of acknowledging it.

Instead of responding to Shego's prior snide comment, Kim simply smiled at her. A terrible 'told-you-so' smile that slowly stretched across her face. As the smile on Kim's face grew, Shego's face fell, knowing what, in fact, the teen was leering at. Her eyes involuntarily looked over to Drakken and back at Kim, a slight pink spreading across her nose. To complete the satisfied look, thereby stabbing Shego right in her pride, Kim raised her eyebrows and lidded her eyes knowingly.

As the rest of the Possibles and Stoppables sat down, Rooke shifted in his seat and said, "I want to thank you all for accommodating this sudden arrangement with relative minimal resistance. Please! Eat!" he added, noticing the hungered looks on the twins and Ron.

Without further hesitation, the new guests filled their plates. Everyone, except Director and her agents.

"What are you doing, Rooke?" Director asked blandly. "What are you up to?"

"It's not so much what _I'm _up to, Betty," Rooke replied. "But let's wait to address that unpleasantness until after breakfast. Please, eat."

* * *

After departing from the Stoppable house, Ronan and Sutton traveled about an hour outside of Middleton to an abandoned factory where a small twin piston jet had been stored for their use. While small, the jet would've been large enough to hold the two Syndicate members, as well as the Possibles and Stoppables. However, since Director interjected and offered to transport the families to the Manor, Ronan did not need to sit in the cabin and babysit. Instead, she took the co-pilot seat next to Sutton as he navigated the tiny aircraft.

The majority of the flight was conducted in silence. Ronan had called Angie to bring her, Rooke and Margo up to speed on the recent developments of Director's interference. In turn, Angie filled her and Sutton in J.P. and Derek's pickup, impromptu guest included. Ronan was not surprised that her mother had tried to get to Drakken before she did, but it irked her to no end. Karen had always had this compulsion to try and set things right, even when it wasn't her place. She had her chance to tell Drakken. She had had twenty-two years to drop him some kind of line. Now it was Ronan's turn. It was supposed to be anyway. No doubt, Karen had spilled the beans about Ronan already.

It was about 8:15 in the morning, and Sutton was about thirty minutes away from landing the small plane. For the past fifteen minutes, Ronan had taken out her slick silver lighter and was rhythmically opening, lighting, and snapping it shut.

Finally, Sutton grabbed her hand holding the lighter as a way of asking for silence.

"Sorry," Ronan muttered, and she shoved it back into the pocket of her hoody.

"It's okay," Sutton said, putting both hands back on the throttle. "You're nervous."

Ronan furrowed her brow and frowned. She opened her mouth to dispute the feeling, but then closed it again.

"Have you thought about what you're going to say to him?"

Ronan shook her head, sucking on her bottom lip. "No."

"Well, I'm sure something will come to you when you see him."

'_When I see him.'_ That time was fast approaching now, and Ronan couldn't help the clenching feeling deep in her stomach. Did she want to see him? Ever since she could remember, she wanted to know who he was. She wanted to know, but wanted to see? To her, that was a different thing entirely. She had gotten along fine without him for all this time, hadn't she? Hell, she could've gotten along fine without her mother.

Why did this whole 'father-thing' stick in her craw as much as it did?

"It's like an anorexic patient asking for the origin of their disorder, or asking a depressed person why they are depressed," Margo had said when Ronan talked to her about it. "Asking why is unimportant and redundant. Finding the reason for an eating disorder does not lead to recovery, and someone with depression just is. The reason for you wanting to meet your father is completely arbitrary."

Ronan had shifted uncomfortably in the seat across from Margo, feeling like she had somehow just been scolded.

"It's something you've been fixated on for a long time. The reason to bite the bullet and do it is to allow yourself to stop obsessing over it. Can you name a reason not to do it?"

Ronan rolled around several unfinished thoughts and sentences around her mouth before she gave up trying to answer.

As the memory of that conversation faded away, Ronan noticed that Sutton had been to pull up on the plane's throttle and that they were steadily descending through the morning haze. As the plane touched down on the pavement, the two could see Reginald waiting for them, leaning against his truck.

Once Sutton had pulled the craft to a stop, the two unbuckled and got off. Sutton made for Reginald and the truck, while Ronan lifted a thin arm in the old man's direction and started for the hanger. Inside, there was the larger jet that Derek and J.P. had taken from Washington D.C. Near to the west wall of the hanger, her Ducati sat, recently unloaded from the larger aircraft.

Back outside, Sutton had closed the distance between himself and Reginald.

"Mornin', young master Sutton," Reginald greeted, cheerfully.

"Good morning, Reg," Sutton replied. "Everyone else already at the Manor?"

"Yessir. Probably sittin' down to breakfast."

"Oh," Sutton sighed. He was beginning to get hungry.

From the hanger, the two men heard a quick roar and the gentle purring of a motorcycle, and Ronan came tearing out of the metal building. She slowed to a stop when she came parallel with Sutton and Reginald, and flipped up the visor of her helmet.

"I'll meet you back at the manor," she said, shut the visor and sped off.

Sutton watched her go, a tint of worry in his blue eyes.

"We best get goin'," Reginald said, rounding the truck's cab. "Rooke is waiting for the two of you a'fore he briefs the guests as to the reason for their visit."

Sutton got in the truck's passenger seat, and he and Reginald headed towards home.

Ronan tore through the trees and up the gravel drive with unnecessary and dangerous speed. As she approached the front door, she slowed and hobbled the bike up a few feet, her long legs straddled over the sides. She looked at the front door, and gripped the bike's handlebars tightly.

To go in, or not to go in.

Making a split decision, Ronan readjusted her posture, revved the engine, and sped down the other end of the driveway, which circled around the Manor. In the back, the drive opened into a large cul de sac, with a large two-story carriage house set a few hundred feet from the Manor. Ronan rolled the Ducati to the left set of wrought iron decorated doors of the carriage house, punched in a number-code on the key pad bolted into the adjacent wall and waited for the doors to slide open. Once they did, she wheeled her bike in a parked it in its designated spot, next to three of Rooke's antique cars. She took off her helmet, propped it on the bike's seat, and exited the carriage house, taking care to lock it up in the process. In the distance, she could hear the huffing and puffing of Reginald's truck puttering up the drive. She smiled wryly and shook her head, supposing that she would once again have to revamp the old engine. She wished Reginald would just let her build him a new truck. But the old man was attached to the thing, every bit of it. After a minute of listening to the vehicle struggle, Ronan headed for the small back door of the Manor.

The oddly plain screen door led into a large, but otherwise unimpressive, kitchen. Back when Rooke's great-grandparents, and their parents and so on, had been the Manor's proprietors, this had been the servants' kitchen and dining room. Technically, it still served the same function, but it did not have the same formality as it had in the old days. Regularly, one could find Derek, Angie, or even Rooke there fixing something to eat or drink; and the current 'servants' of the Manor, were often invited to eat with Rooke and Margo in the main dining room.

Just as Ronan had entered the kitchen, Ms. Walsh came through the wide swinging door on the other side of the kitchen. She was carrying a large silver tureen with bits of fruit left in it.

"Oh! Ronan!" the woman exclaimed catching sight of her. "You're back!"

"Yup."

"Well, if you want some breakfast, you better hurry up. Those boys that Dr. Director brought – and Derek - have eaten nearly everything on the table," Ms. Walsh said, placing the tureen in the sink and filling it with water.

Ronan hummed a note of ascent. The weight in her gut had returned. Walking into the dining room meant coming face to face with Drakken, his partner, and her mother. Not only that, but the first meeting with her father would be in front of everyone in there: Derek, Angie, J.P., Director and her lap dogs, and the Possibles and Stoppables. She didn't fee like putting on a show for these people.

"Actually," Ronan began, shifting her weight easily from foot to foot, "I'm gonna go down to the Shop."

She turned and headed for a smaller door in the right corner of the kitchen.

"What?" Ms. Walsh asked, taking her attention away from the soaking bowl. "Ronan, I know Mr. Rooke wants to fill the guests in with all of you there."

Ronan stopped with her hand on the door's handle. She gripped it determinedly, and strode through the large pantry, leaving Ms. Walsh in the kitchen.

On the other side of the pantry, there was a secret door that opened one of the wooden wall panels of the adjacent hallway. Ronan stepped out into the passage, closing the panel behind her with a soft 'click'. A few yards down the hall, large French doors stood open and she could hear the quiet, uncomfortable, stilted chatter of people who are not familiar with one another.

Before Ronan could walk away from the dining room, Turtle gracefully rounded the corner. He took notice of Ronan, trotted towards her, and leapt onto a small decorative table and onto her shoulders. Turtle rubbed his face in the hollow of her cheekbone, and Ronan obligingly scratched his ears.

The pair started down the hall, and finally came to a floor-to-ceiling tapestry depicting St. George and the Dragon. Ronan pushed the decoration aside, revealing a keypad and a handle-less door. She pressed a series of numbers into the pad, and the door slid open.

The staircase and the halls and rooms that this door led to were in stark contrast to the halls and rooms above in the Manor. The labyrinth below the Manor house was austere and modern, with slate gray concrete floors and steps, glass walls between the rooms and thick, heavy metal doors.

Ronan, with Turtle still perched on her shoulders, maneuvered through the large hallways until she got to her Shop. The Shop was easily the largest room of the Manor's 'basement'. Inside there were two large worktables, each strewn with tools, metal scraps, and various guns and ammunition. Off against the walls, there were large blocks of metal and wires: various engines and their parts. At the far end of the Shop a shelled-out, tireless Hummer sat on iron I-beams.

Turtle jumped from Ronan's shoulders to the nearest table and cautiously stepped over the metal mess. Ronan flexed her long white fingers at her sides, trying to decide what to fiddle with first. The weight in her stomach had worked its way up into her throat, as she became overwhelmed with disappointment that she had scurried down here to hide.

* * *

"So," Ron said, folding his hands together on the table in front of him, "how're things?"

The question was directed toward Drakken and Shego.

"Fine," Drakken snapped.

Shego didn't respond and merely looked at her employer with tired eyes. Kim sat back in her chair as Ron tried to goad Drakken into conversation. Everything about this situation was just 'off'. Of course, that was obvious, what with the whole sudden transplant to England to the company of this secret society . . . thing.

However, there was something odd beneath the surface of this whole situation, Kim thought. There was this new vibe she was getting from her former arch-foes, and there was the strange addition of Karen – who Kim had been introduced to during breakfast. For some reason, Kim got the feeling that this woman's presence was an accident; she wasn't intended to be there. Although, the reason as to why she had been included and what her connection was to the situation was not addressed. She seemed to know Drakken, though. Kim noticed that she sat next to him with relative calmness and spoke to him in a way that alluded to familiarity.

The rest of the unknown breakfast guests had been introduced to Kim and her family as Derek, Angie, John-Paul, and, of course, Dr. Margo Gordon and Rooke.

Mrs. Dr. Possible had been reduced to a stuttering puddle of fan-girlishness as she probed Dr. Gordon with question after question about her work and research. Apparently, the fact that the woman had some kind of hand in this mysterious meeting did not trump her scientific work. While the doctor and Shego were related, Kim did not see too many similarities between the two women. Only that they appeared to share the same subtle haughty and self-righteous demeanor.

"Um," Kim began, turning to Rooke. He returned her gaze with kind gray eyes, "will we be finding out what exactly is going on? I mean, we were told that someone is trying to kidnap us?"

What little talk was happening around the table came to a stop, and all eyes fixed on Kim and Rooke.

"I suppose we could start," Rooke sighed. "Ronan and Sutton should be here shortly, anyhow."

At the sound of her name, both Karen and Drakken stiffened slightly, and Karen's eyes flicked to the open doorway of the dining room. As if on cue, Sutton stepped into the room. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Hello," he said cautiously.

"Here," Ms. Walsh said, shoving a plate with leftover toast and eggs into his hands. Then she continued to clear off the table and disappeared behind a door in the left hand corner of the room.

"For those of you who don't know," Rooke said to the table, "this is Sutton Queenin."

A flurry of weak hand waves greeted him, and Sutton took a bite of toast.

"Where's Ronan?" Angie asked.

"Did she not come in?" Sutton muffled through a mouthful of egg, looking behind him. "She should've gotten here before me. She took the Ducati."

"Chew, please, Sutton," Margo reprimanded.

"Ms. Walsh," Rooke called. The old woman appeared automatically, and came to her employer's chair side. "Please take the twins and Hana to the rumpus room."

"You have a _rumpus_ room?" Shego asked, disbelievingly annoyed.

"Certainly."

Ms. Walsh rounded the table to Mrs. Stoppable who had Hana in her lap. She held the toddler tighter as Ms. Walsh held out her hands to take the child.

"It's alright," Rooke cooed kindly, and Mrs. Stoppable hesitantly lifted Hana into Ms. Walsh's arms. Surprisingly, the child wrapped her tiny arms around the maid's neck and rested her head contently on her shoulder. Jim and Tim looked to there parents for guidance. The doctors Possible both nodded reluctantly, and the boys scooted out of their seats, following Ms. Walsh out of the dining room.

Once they had left, Rooke stood up from his seat and said, "If you all would follow me, please."

Everyone got up from there seats, and began to follow Rooke out of the dining room, with Margo heading up the rear. Once they all had exited, she closed the French doors and continued to follow closely behind. Rooke led the guests and Syndicate members to a large Parlor room filled with plush, elegant furniture.

Before Drakken, who was near the end of the line, stepped into the room, he was stopped by Margo.

"Dr. Drakken," she said with all the authority she had used to call her niece.

Drakken turned to look at her, surprised at being addressed with such 'say-so'. And, just as with Shego, she crooked a finger in his direction, indicating he was to come with her. He glanced down at Shego for guidance.

"You better go," she whispered in response.

He was still amazed that her aunt had such power over her, and he obeyed Margo's command, following her further down the hall. Eventually, they came to a large tapestry. Margo pushed it aside, unveiling a keypad and adjoining door. She punched in the code and the door slide noiselessly open.

She turned to him and asked, "Would you like to meet Ronan?"

Drakken didn't say anything, but he felt his head bob up and down. A small grin tugged at Margo's lips and she headed down the stairs the door had opened onto. Drakken followed.

As the two maneuvered through the concrete and glass rooms and halls, the sound of blaring rock music grew louder and louder. Finally, Margo stopped him, and held up a hand that ordered him to stay put. He did so, and she continued to move in the direction of the music.

As Margo entered the Shop, the music had grown to a deafening din. Ronan, who was nonplussed by the gratuitous volume, sat at one of the worktables, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. In front of her a large box of 25-calliber shell casings sat, and she was taking a soldering gun to the tips of the bullets; turning the rounded ends into flat circles. Turtle was lying on the warm, already shaved bullets.

Margo walked over to the stereo system and turned it off. The sudden silence caused both Ronan and Turtle to look up in surprise.

"Good morning," Margo snapped. "What're you up to?"

Ronan set down the iron. "Working." She removed the cigarette from her mouth and blew out the smoke in a steady stream.

"Hmmm," Margo sighed. "Well, Rooke is getting ready to debrief all the guests on the reason why we brought them here."

Ronan shrugged, tapping the cigarette tip into a nearby ashtray, "So? He doesn't need me for that."

"I realize that. But he, and I, would still like you there."

Ronan ignored her, placed her cigarette back between her lips, and went back to the task she had given herself.

"You know, it's pointless to avoid the now inevitable," Margo said, more kindly.

"You might as well send him in," Ronan spat. "I know you brought him down here. I'm not an idiot."

"I know that, dear," Margo replied. "I'll be right out in the hall if you need me."

"Uh-huh."

Margo stepped out of the Shop, and strode the length of the hall, back to where she had left Drakken. She fixed him with her blue eyes and smiled. Lifting an arm she presented the way for him, and he slowly began down the hall.

As he closed in on the place where Margo had come from, his heart rate quickened and it suddenly became difficult to breathe. When he crossed the doorway and he caught his first glimpse of her, his breath caught in his throat and he stopped breathing all together.

She was sitting on a stool at a large table, overly focused on whatever she was doing. Just as in the photos Karen had shown him, she was tall and boney. The white tank top she wore exposed her broad shoulders and the sinewy, ropey muscles of her long arms. He saw her right shoulder was blackened with an elaborate calligraphy 'S', and he saw that something was also tattooed across her knuckles, but he couldn't make out the words. The pixie cut that he had seen in her photos had been shaved into a scraggly Mohawk, which was flattened by a pair of goggles she had pushed up on her head. A smoldering cigarette was wedged in the corner of her mouth. As he took a step closer, her eyes snapped up to him, and he was once again struck by the eeriness of their color. He didn't know where the amber had come from, since Karen had green eyes and he had very dark blue irises.

She set down the tool she was using and locked eyes with him. Slowly, Drakken closed the distance between them, coming to rest on the other side of the table. Ronan drew on the cigarette for a long, deep breath, and blew the smoke out through her nostrils, watching him closely. Belatedly, he noticed a large tortoise shelled cat sprawled across a bed of bullets. Drakken's breath and voice was still stuck in his throat and, thankfully, Ronan spoke first.

"So," she said, and that was it. She tapped the accumulated ash into a tray, and took up the cigarette again. The father and daughter continued to stare at each other, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Ronan continued, "You can have a seat."

She gestured to the chair across from her own. Shakily, Drakken pulled it away from the table and sat down.

"Thank you," is what is he finally managed to choke out. There was another silence before Drakken finally blurted out, "I didn't know about you." It was said as an apology.

"I know," Ronan whispered, finally squelching the cigarette out in the ashtray. She was watching her father as carefully as he was watching her. It was odd to look into the face of someone that, physically, she shared a lot in common with.

As often as she had wondered who her father was, Ronan had thought less about what she would do or say when and if she would ever come face-to-face with the man. She was regretting not thinking about that a little more, since she was getting tired of just staring at him.

Finally, she said, "So, uh, good job on saving the world, I guess."

Drakken couldn't help but grin a little bit. The compliment was transparent and she didn't mean it. It was simply a means to break the silence, and he found it, and the tone it was said in, funny.

"Thank you," he replied in a matching timbre. He wasn't sure, but he could've sworn a grin flickered across Ronan's mouth.

Just as Drakken was beginning to relax, there was a loud and all-to-familiar _**BLOOP!**_ and the ring of marigold petals encased themselves around his neck. The sudden sound caused the cat to jump with fright and dash across the table, down to the floor, and out of the room.

Ronan's eyes widened and her face contorted as she tried (and failed) to stifle a laugh. Her laughter, a light but slightly maniacal sound, filled the room, and Drakken blushed furiously. What a time for the drug to finally wear off.

"That's unfortunate," Ronan chuckled.

"Quite," Drakken muttered flatly, as he began to pluck the obnoxious petals.

He set the removed petals on the table in front of him, and Ronan took one up, flipping it over with her long fingers. Drakken could now make out the words etched across her knuckles: Good and Evil. He looked down at what she had been working on.

"What're you doing?" he asked, indicating the soldering iron and shell casings.

"Nothing," Ronan said, setting down the petal. "Busy work."

"I hate to interrupt," came a voice. Margo had appeared in the doorway. "But we really should head up to the parlor."

Ronan quickly took off her goggles, set them on the table and got up from her seat. Drakken followed suit, and followed his daughter to the door. Ronan stopped next to Margo, and let Drakken pass by her and into the hall first. Margo looked up at Ronan expectantly. Ronan returned the stare and shrugged, and the two women continued down the hall and back up the staircase.

* * *

Back in the parlor, the group had spread around the room, taking seats and leaning against tables. Director, Will, and Minka stood off to the side watching Rooke, who was standing next to a large stone fireplace. Above the mantle there was a large mirror that stretched the length of the five-foot shelf.

"Are we going to get this show on the road?" Shego asked hotly.

"Yes, please," Director added. "I have a legitimate organization to run."

Rooke raised a thick eyebrow at the woman. He turned his attention to the massive mirror, and touched something on the side of its frame. The face of it flickered and the reflective surface was replaced by some kind of computer screen. The image was that of Dr. Vrishkov; the same photo that had been in the folder Director had presented Kim.

Before Rooke could begin, rhythmic footsteps approached the parlor and Drakken entered, closely followed by Margo, and finally Ronan. Karen, who had been leaning against an end table, stood up and locked eyes with her daughter. In the light of room, Kim got a better look at Ronan's face, and realized why it had seemed so familiar when she had first met her. The revelation was not lost on Ron, either.

"No way," Ron gasped, looking from Ronan to Drakken. Kim elbowed him in the ribs.

Both Drakken and Ronan ignored the attention. Drakken took the cushion next to Shego on the love seat, and Ronan crossed over to where Sutton was standing with his plate. They had an inaudible exchange, and she picked a crust of toast from his plate and began to nibble at it.

"Now that we're all here," Rooke began, "for those of you unaware, this," he gestured to the image of Vrishkov, "is Dr. Artemis Vrishkov. He works for the United States government at Area 51, researching space and alien life. Night before last, he was kidnapped."

"Yes, we know that," Will Du exasperatedly said. "By who? Queenin said you knew."

Rooke ignored Will's interruption and carried on, "Chances are good that he was abducted because of his knowledge of alien life and technology; given the recent invasion and left over Lorwardian weapons and technology left across the globe, those who kidnapped him are planning on using his knowledge to utilize the Lorwardian debris."

"Yeah. And they want me, Ron, Drakken and Shego because we also know some things about the Lorwardians," Kim finished.

Rooke took a small remote from the mantle and pressed a button on it. The screen switched from the photo of Vrishkov to one of a tall, balding, sallow looking man. The picture was fuzzy, and the fact that the man was not looking at the camera told the viewers that it was a candid shot that the man had not been aware it was being taken.

"This is Lucas Cutting," Rooke said. "He is the founder and head of a secret society called the Black Rabbits."

"I've never heard of them," Director said. There was an edge in her voice. Will's mouth was slightly agape, and Minka was squinting at the screen.

Rooke smiled, obviously enjoying the fact that this annoyed Betty to no end. "I don't doubt it. It is a secret society after all. Plus, Lucas Cutting and his workers are off the grid; no social security numbers, no taxes, no birth certificates, no records, no anything."

"How do they manage that?" Kim asked.

"Money talks, my dear," Rooke answered. "And it is fluent in violence and corruption. Cutting has amassed a large fortune and has his hands in several other rebel groups, drug cartels, and governments."

"He's a megalomaniac," Margo interjected, stepping forward, "As well as a psychopath and narcissist. He has demonstrated a total lack of empathy for his actions – "

"Which are?" Kim pushed.

Margo looked at her. "He has given money to several organizations - the IFA, the Black Fingers, and so on – in order to fuel their terrorist plots. In return, they are indebted to him, and therefore hold some kind of allegiance to him."

"Why? Besides inciting violence and terror, what's the point?" Director asked.

"Too feel powerful over others," Margo explained with a shrug. "He has a very interesting mindset," she added softly, looking back at Cutting's image.

"He's been increasing in activity over the past decade or so," Rooke continued. "I believe that this recent invasion has given him the exact 'push' he needs to try and finish his final goal."

"Let me guess," Kim said dully, "world domination."

"Good work there, Nancy Drew," Ronan said snidely from behind her.

"He's kidnapped Dr. Vrishkov to sort through, and possibly tweak, Lorwardian weapons he's gathered to try and take over the world," Rooke confirmed.

"How do you know all that?" Director asked. "Are you chums with him as well?"

"Margo and I have met Cutting a couple of times at the Bermuda Triangle Club, but no relationship has ever been established."

"I was able to hack into the e-mails, texts, and some phone calls between Cutting and other Black Rabbits," Angie said brightly. "That's how we know what he's planning, and that's how we know he set up the kidnapping of Vrishkov and that he was planning on kidnapping all of you," Angie gestured to Kim, Ron, Drakken and Shego.

"That's all very interesting, Rooke," Director said, unimpressed. "I appreciate your affirmative action, but I assure you, Global Justice can handle this Lucas Cutting and protect Miss Possible, Mr. Stoppable and their families. As well as Drakken and Shego." Next to her, Will and Minka smiled, satisfied.

"Betty, do not underestimate Cutting," Rooke warned.

"I won't. And perhaps he shouldn't underestimate the power and resolve of GJ."

"Oh, believe me," Derek said, "he 'estimated' you just enough."

"And what does that mean?" Director demanded.

Rooke glanced over at Derek in exasperation, and then back to Director.

"Cutting has a mole within Global Justice."

This was the first time Kim had ever seen Director speechless. The color drained from her face and her mouth fell open a bit.

"What! Who?" she yelled, looking to Rooke and Angela. Behind her, Will and Minka were looking at each other, disbelievingly.

"We don't know," Angie said apologetically. "He's been very careful not reveal who it is in his letters and phone calls."

"That's why I'm going to have to insist that they all stay here with us," Rooke said. "Cutting does not know about this place."

How could Director refuse? Now that she knew her organization had been infiltrated, she didn't know whom she could trust with Kim, Ron and their families' lives. Her brown eye fell to the floor in defeat and submission.

"Alright," she said. "But I want in on this case."

"Of course," Rooke complied.

"I don't mean to be rude," Mr. Stoppable began, "but don't we get a say in whether or not what _we_ should do?"

"Well," Margo sighed, "you're an actuary, correct Mr. Stoppable?" He nodded. "Can you then assess and quantify the risk you would be putting your family in if you were to refuse our aide? Remember, the Black Rabbits are for the most part unknown to the world, and they have an unknown number of direct and indirect members. Members who could be anyone and anywhere, and are skilled in making murders look like accidents."

Mr. Stoppable gulped.

"I promise," Rooke said, "you will all be safe here."

Suddenly, the clock chimed, indicating that it was now ten o'clock in the morning. After the ninth chime, Margo said, "You all must be tired."

As if the words were some kind of spell, most everyone in the room suddenly came to realization that they were bogged down with fatigue. Jet lag, little sleep, and learning that they were in potential danger had really wiped all of them out. Margo stepped over a potted fern in the parlor corner and pulled a tasseled cord that disappeared into the ceiling. It was some kind of bell, because Ms. Walsh came shuffling into the room not a minute later.

"Will you please show our guests to there rooms," Margo asked.

"Yes Ma'am."

Slowly, everyone began to get up and head to the door. Everyone except the Syndicate members, Director and her agents. Director still appeared to be in shock about the news of a mole in GJ.

Suddenly, she snapped at Will and Minka. "You two stay here. Work this case."

"Yes Ma'am," Will affirmed.

"If you excuse me, Dr. Director," Minka said, "where are you going?"

"Back to GJHQ," she said. "See if I can't get to the bottom of this mole business," she turned to Angie, "I would appreciate it if you would send me the information you gathered."

"Sure thing."

"Would you like us to arrange a plane for you," Rooke asked politely.

"Unnecessary," Director spat, and she stalked out of the room.

Without thinking, Kim followed after her. She finally caught up with Director as the older woman stepped out of the Manor, onto its front steps.

"Dr. Director!" Kim called.

Director turned to look at the teen. Over her shoulder, Kim could see the previous GJ van making its way up the drive.

"What is it, Kim?"

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Director sighed, looking at Kim softly. "Given the circumstances, I think it is. I'm sorry things are turning out like this." The van pulled up to the steps and Director opened the passenger door.

"Will and Minka are staying. If any trouble arises, they'll know what to do." And she got in the van and drove off, leaving Kim on the steps.

Kim watched the van drive down the way and out of sight. Sighing, she went back into the Manor. Once she was back in the front room, Ms. Walsh and Margo, being followed by her parents, the Stoppables Drakken and Shego greeted her. Neither Karen nor the GJ agents were not among them.

"If you'll follow us, please, Miss Possible," Margo said. Kim obliged and the group ascended the grand staircase.

Once at the top of the stairs, the group split into two: Ron and his parents, were led away by Ms. Walsh, off to the left, while Kim, her parents, Drakken and Shego were led off to the right by Margo. Kim looked after Ron, and he her, as they parted ways. He waved solemnly at her, and she smiled weakly.

Margo led the five down yet another hall, lined with doors that led to various rooms. When they reached the fourth doorway to the left, Margo placed her hands on either handle and flung open the double doors, revealing a bedroom.

"Drakken and Saoirse," Margo said as a way of explanation

At first Kim didn't know whom Margo was referring to. Then she realized it must be Shego, and she was amazed at the fact that she never considered 'Shego' being an alias. Kim briefly wondered what her brother's real names were if they were not Hego, Mego and the Wegos.

'_That makes more sense,'_ Kim thought, _'Who would name their twins the same thing, anyway?'_

Belatedly, Kim registered the sight of the very grand bedroom before her. Against the far wall, there was a large, four-poster, king-sized bed. One bed. Kim fought not to smile at the fact. Clearly, even Shego's – Saoirse's – aunt even saw through her and Drakken's relationship for what it actually was. Kim flicked a smug look to Shego, who glowered at her.

Drakken had stepped into the room. Shego remain planted in the doorway.

"Is there a problem, Saoirse?" Margo asked, blandly.

Shego shook her head. "No," and she stepped inside the room, and shut the doors behind her.

Margo continued to lead the final three further down the hall and when reached the very end, she opened the last set of double doors to the right carefully. The reason for her caution was that Jim and Tim were already tucked in and sleeping in separate twin beds against the right wall. The opposite side of the room was occupied by another king-sized bed.

"That's for you, Mr. and Mrs. Possible," Margo whispered. "Kim."

Kim looked to the woman, and Margo pointed to a door on the other side of the room. She then quietly floated across the room towards the door and Kim followed. Margo opened it for her and the two went in. This door had led them to a large bathroom, with another door facing the one they had just entered from. Margo opened this door, which presented a smaller, but equally nice room with a queen sized bed facing a large bay window. The two stepped inside, and Margo made for the window and drew the curtains so that they shut out the light.

"There should be some pajamas and extra clothes in the dresser," Margo said, pointing to a large armoire. Kim followed her finger, and nodded.

Margo sighed, "I know this all very taxing, and I'm sorry it's happening."

Typically Kim would've blown away the concern with a 'No big'. But she couldn't. What with everything that had happened within the last several hours, everything that had escalated to this, it was big. And for the first time she could remember, she slightly regretted her saving the world antics. They had gotten her and her family here, ultimately. Kim just wanted a break, really. But evil and psychos don't give a crap about one's schedule or plans, so here she was.

Margo crossed the room, over to Kim, and placed a firm, warm hand on her cheek. Even though this intimate gesture was coming from pretty much a complete stranger, it was welcome and comforting. Kim closed her eyes and savored the maternal aura flowing from the woman in front of her.

"Rest," Margo hushed. She took away her hand gently and left the room.

Kim collapsed onto the bed and almost immediately fell asleep.

* * *

"Presumptuous cunt," Shego muttered, glaring at the king bed in front of her. It was the only one in the room. There was a couch in front of the room's fireplace, but it was fancy and uncomfortable looking.

"Shego!" Drakken scolded. Typically, Shego, while mean, refrained from using overly vulgar language, and this would be the second time today that an expletive escaped her lips. She ignored him, continuing to scowl at the bed.

"What's the problem?" he asked. Shego still didn't answer him. Finally, tired of waiting, he gently took her hand and said, "Come on, let's get some sleep."

As Drakken led Shego toward the bed, the image of Kim with her smug 'told-ya' face flashed through Shego's mind, and she ripped her hand from Drakken's just as it became engulfed in green plasma.

Drakken turned to look at her, starting to get annoyed.

"What is with you?" he demanded.

Shego didn't answer right away, looking at her hand; it was the first time her glow had appeared after being drugged, and she was looking at it like she had never it before. Finally, she extinguished it and looked to her employer, "Why are you rolling over like this?"

"Like what?"

"Pfft! You just let that big guy and what's-his-face whisk us here, no questions asked!"

"Now, come on, Shego that's not fair," Drakken balked, crossing his arms. "I was drugged. So were you!"

"At least I tried to stand up to these people! You just stood there! Now you're just gonna sleep 'cause they told you to?"

"I'm sorry! I'm tired!" Drakken cried. "Aren't you?"

She was, but she hated being told what to do. Shego folded her arms across her chest and glared at the floor. Yes, she was annoyed with the current predicament as a whole, the whole kidnapping plots and whatnot. But what was really getting to her were the words of her aunt and Kimmie's self-satisfaction at knowing she had been right about Shego's feelings for Drakken.

It wasn't as if Shego was embarrassed by her feelings (okay, maybe a little). But she hated knowing that others were able to point it out before she realized it herself. She also hated having her face rubbed in it. On the Lorwardian spacecraft, and then on national television, her and Drakken's relationship had been put up for scrutiny by the entire world.

'_Maybe I shouldn't have kissed him.'_

Without realizing it, Drakken had closed the distance between them, and had begun to place his hands on her shoulders. Automatically, Shego shrugged him away, which took Drakken aback. Then he realized what was going on.

"You don't want this," he said slowly. "Us, I mean."

Bashfully, Shego looked up at him, having difficultly putting her feelings and thoughts into words, "Look, Dr. D-"

"So, everything after the ceremony was just a – a – an . . . accident, or something?" It felt as if a fist was squeezing his heart.

Flustered, Shego ran her hand through her hair, "I don't know! Things are just so . . . weird right now! I mean, maybe I shouldn't have kissed you. We _definitely_ shouldn't have had sex!"

She was blabbering now; not even thinking about what she was saying. In the back of her mind a small voice – her Conscious, most likely – was screaming, "NO! STOP! STOP TALKING, YOU IDIOT! YOU DON'T MEAN ANY OF THAT!"

True. Ultimately, Shego was not sorry she had sex with Drakken, much less kissed him. However, that's not what she said, and what she was saying struck Drakken right in the chest. The fist was squeezing tighter and tighter, preventing his heart from beating.

"Now you're baby mama is here, and, Oh!" Shego stopped. "That's right! You have some punk-ass kid! Seriously! What's with her hair!"

"Shego, please stop."

"Then there's Kimmie smiling at me like she knows everything! As if she called you and I getting together! I swear, if I get her alone while we're here –"

"ENOUGH!" Drakken roared.

Shego stopped her rambling and looked at him. He hadn't used a tone like that since she lost his body during that whole mind-switching caper.

"That's it, is it?" Drakken growled. "You saying this," he gestured between them, "was a mistake because Kim Possible's giving a hard time about it?"

Shego's silence told him he was right.

"Fine. If you're so concerned about what a sniveling teenage brat thinks about you, then maybe I don't want this either," and he brushed past Shego, heading for the doors.

"Where are you going?" Shego asked, over her shoulder.

"I'm not tired anymore," he answered, opening the door. He stepped into the hall and slammed it shut behind him.

Letting out a strangled, frustrated cry, Shego flung herself onto the bed, and covered her face with a pillow.

'_Way to go, Saoirse. You fucked that up nice and good.'_

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so much again for reading! Please leave a review on the way out!


	8. Office Romances and Paradoxes

**Disclaimer:** I do not Kim Possible, any Kim Possible related characters, or anything that seems familiar.

* * *

Before Karen realized it, she was alone in the parlor. After the two families and Drakken and Shego had been led to their rooms, Ronan slipped out, closely followed by Sutton. Then Will and Minka, as Angie took them away to show them the evidence she had accumulated on Lucas Cutting and the mole he had within GJ. Next, Derek and John-Paul dragged themselves out, muttering about getting some sleep. The only person left in the room with her was Rooke.

"Are you not tired, Ms. Anderson?" he asked.

Karen shook her head. Her body and mind were in that odd state of being so beyond exhaustion that she knew she wouldn't be able to fall asleep if she tried. She wanted to do something. She wanted to talk to her daughter, but didn't know where she had run off to in the large house.

"Would it be alright if I just wandered around the house?"

Rooke smiled. "Certainly." And he escorted her out of the room.

They stepped a few yards down the hall, until they reached a closed door. Rooke stopped and placed a hand on the knob.

"Feel free to roam at you heart's content," Rooke said, twisting the door handle. "If you need assistance, most of the rooms have a bell that will call Ms. Walsh to you."

"Thank you."

He opened the door, revealing a study, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him. Karen stood outside the room for a moment, before continuing down the hall. Eventually, she found her way back to the front hall, where she had met Rooke, Margo and Angie. As she entered the large room, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and as she rounded the banister, she saw that it was Drew.

"I thought you were going to bed," she said.

Drakken, who had been glaring down at his feet, looked up. He shook his head. "I'm not tired," he muttered.

"Are you oka-"

"I'm fine!" he snapped.

Karen was taken aback by his tone; in all the time she had known him, rarely did he speak with such ferocity. Sure, he had yelled and ranted, but this was different. After a moment, Drakken let out a heavy sigh, whispered an apology and brushed past Karen. She turned to watch him go, debating whether or not she should follow. Deciding against it, Karen continued to meander around the Manor's first floor.

As she lazily drifted from room-to-room and hall-to-hall, she took to wondering where everyone – who hadn't gone to bed – was. The manor was large, but she thought she should've ran into someone by now.

Soon, Karen found herself back in the dining room. The table had been cleared of dishes, flatware and cups, and a large flowered centerpiece sat on the table in their place. She headed back out of the dining room through the French doors she had before, but this time she headed down the hall in the opposite direction from the parlor.

As she slowly stepped down the length of the hall, a loud 'meow' resounded from down at her feet. Karen looked, and saw a large tortoise Maine Coon slinking along side her. She stopped to look at the cat, and he began to weave in-between her legs, tail curling around her calves. She bent down a bit to scratch the animal behind the ears. He pushed his head into the palm of her hand, purring contently. He then slid the rest of his body under Karen' s hand as he trotted over to a large painting that covered the entire wall, from floor to ceiling. The cat sat himself down in front of it and meowed loudly, looking at Karen. Curious, Karen walked over to the cat. As she approached he got up and slipped behind the painting, which turned out to be an elaborate tapestry. Karen peeked behind it to watch the cat, and saw something odd. Fully pushing the heavy embroidered fabric to the side, Karen exposed the door and keypad there. The cat had risen to his hind legs, stretching his nose and whiskers to the keypad. As Karen wondered why this door was hidden, and what could be behind it, someone cleared their throat lightly behind her.

Karen jumped a bit and turned to find Margo. The woman wore a remarkably unreadable face, so Karen didn't know if she was in trouble or not for touching the tapestry and revealing what was supposed to be a secret door. Finally, a slight smile bloomed across Margo's face.

"Here," she said and she tapped a series of keys on the pad. The door silently slid open and the cat raced down the stairs it opened onto. Karen looked at the woman; she didn't necessarily want to go wherever the door led to, she had just been curious as to what was behind it. Margo eyes softened and she said, "Go talk to your daughter," nodding at the opening.

Karen looked at the open door and back at Margo.

"Thank you."

Margo nodded at continued down the hall.

* * *

After Rooke and Margo had excused the meeting from the parlor, Ronan, not being particularly tired, headed back for the Shop; Sutton closely following her.

"How'd the first meeting go?" he asked, as the pair sat at the worktable that Ronan had been at earlier that day. She had taken up a small, but hefty, Colt and was filling its magazine with the .25 caliber shells she had shaved. She considered his question before answering.

"Fine, I guess," she answered with a shrug. "We really didn't say much. I didn't know what to say. We just kind of sat there and stared at each other. Then those hideous petals popped out around his neck."

Sutton grinned at the image. The feature faltered a bit as he noticed Ronan's character change into something dark and annoyed.

"Hey," he said, scooting closer to her.

"It wasn't what I expected," she explained. "I didn't know what to expect, but didn't anticipate feeling what I did."

"Which was?

"Close to nothing," Ronan admitted. She shook her head and set down the half full magazine. "How can I obsess over something for _years_," she said, "and when that something finally happens, I freeze up and feel nothing. Maybe my mother was right."

"About what?"

"About meeting him. It doesn't matter," Ronan rasped. "He's never been part of my life. I've never been part of his. We're nothing to each other. Strangers."

Sutton watched Ronan carefully, trying to decipher what and how she was thinking. Not an easy task. Her mind worked in a way that was totally unique. And while she tended to be aloof and seemingly emotionless, he knew that her feelings dictated more of her thoughts and actions than she let on.

"He has no reason or basis to give a shit about me," Ronan said, taking up the magazine again and sliding another bullet into the slot. "Nor I him."

There it was. The Wall. Sutton leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. At first Ronan tensed, then set down the magazine again, and slowly entwined her arms around him, sheltering herself in his chest.

"Ro," Sutton whispered into the top of her head, "I had Rooke and Margo change the pick-ups because I didn't want your first meeting with Drakken to be under the strain of trying to get him here. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Ronan couldn't think of anything to say, so she just clung to him, breathing in his scent: a spicy, slightly floral thing.

"You know," Sutton continued, "it's okay to feel something for someone you've never met before. The fact that you've spent these last few years looking for you father wasn't just curiosity; you naturally feel some kind of attachment to him, just as he does you."

"How do you know that," Ronan muffled through his shirt.

Sutton smiled briefly, "Because he came down to see you. If he didn't care, he would've told Margo he had no interest in seeing you. Plus," he added, "Reg told me on the drive up here that he asked questions about you." Sutton felt her tense up under his arms.

"It's okay to feel something," he repeated, and then kissed the top of her head.

A flood of warmth and calm washed over Ronan as she felt Sutton's lips on the crown of her head. She tilted her head up and met his lips with hers. Sutton placed a hand to Ronan's cheek and opened his mouth slightly, using the tip of his tongue to gently encourage her mouth to secede.

They kissed for a few moments longer, until they mutually broke away and embraced each other again. This time, Ronan rested her head in the crook of his neck and shoulders, her eyes closed, savoring the feeling of his body pressed into hers.

Sutton ran his fingers down her back and said, "I love you, Ro."

He had said it before. It was not a new revelation. And while Ronan felt the same, she had not actually said the phrase back to him. Some undefined, crippling fear prevented the words from escaping her lips, but she knew that Sutton knew she reciprocated the feelings; and, thankfully, that was enough for him.

The two stayed entwined for a while more, until Ronan heard a slight disturbance by the door to the Shop. She opened her eyes and saw her mother standing in the doorway. Slowly, Ronan untangled her arms from around Sutton's body and sat up straight. Sutton hesitantly did the same, and followed Ronan's gaze to the door. Seeing Karen, he understood why Ronan had broken the hold. With one last meaningful look and squeeze of her hand, Sutton left the room, briefly glancing at Karen on his way out.

The two women engaged in their usual staring contest, waiting for the other to speak. Karen always lost these.

"So," she began, taking careful steps into the room, "this is what you've been doing for the past three years?"

Ronan sighed, taking up the Colt for a third time, "You're not supposed to be here, Mom."

"Well, I am," Karen retorted, taking the seat across from her daughter. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"That I work for a secret vigilante program? Gee, I wonder why. Why didn't you ever tell me about Drakken?"

"Because I didn't want you to get hur-" Karen began defensively, then petered off, realizing the analogy between the two questions.

Shaking her head, Karen said, "I'm sorry, Ronan. I don't know what more I can do than to say that."

"There's nothing more you can do," Ronan responded, sliding the last shell into the magazine. "Just make sure you tell him the same."

Karen sighed, "I did."

"That brings about another question," Ronan said, shoving the magazine into the hilt of the Colt, "why _did _you suddenly decide to seek him out and tell him about me?"

Karen pursed her lips. Ronan knew why Karen had tried to get to Drakken before she did: partly to settle her own conscience and partly to protect him from his daughter. Ronan's anger issues were a point of contention between the mother and daughter, and they were rarely addressed or acknowledged.

Finally, Karen admitted, "I didn't know what you were planning on doing to him."

Ronan laughed her strange, raspy, unsettling laugh. "You really thought I was going to hurt him?"

"Why not? It's perfectly fitting in you past behavior," Karen pointed out. "Remember when you pushed that boy into the coat pegs in kindergarten because he didn't hear you say 'excuse me'? You nearly took out his eye!"

Ronan listened to her mother's recollection, completely detached. She took the Colt, cupping the handle in her hands and holding it out in front of her, lining up the sights.

Karen watched as her daughter handled the small pistol with all the precision of an expert.

"How did you hear about this place? This . . . job?" Karen asked, tired of talking about the 'father issue'.

Ronan lowered the Colt and said, "The spring before I graduated from MIT, when I was studying abroad in London."

"How? If it's secret - "

Ronan shrugged, "I met Sutton while I was travelling over that spring break, and he told me that he worked for this organization and that someone with my skills would be useful."

"Skills?" Karen asked.

"My understanding of mechanical and nuclear sciences. He said that the position would provide me with a purpose as well as a place to live. He took me here to meet with Rooke, and the rest is history."

"So, this is where you went after graduation?"

Ronan nodded. Karen eyed the weapons and shell casings scattered across the worktable, debating if she wanted to know the answer to her next question.

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

Ronan looked carefully at her mother before answering. "No."

Karen didn't know if she was lying or not, but decided not to press the issue.

"What's the deal with you and Sutton, anyway?" Karen queried.

She saw Ronan bristle a bit under the question. Her eyes fell to the table again and she began fiddling with other items. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Karen chided, playfully.

"I don't wanna talk about it. It's none of your business."

"Now, where have I heard that before?"

Ronan glared at her mother, not finding her jabs as amusing as Karen did.

* * *

Slowly, Kim opened her eyes into the muted dark gray light. At first, she didn't remember where she was.

Global Justice.

Cornwall, England.

Syndicate.

Lucas Cutting.

Mole.

The memories filled her mind in a colorful, fast rush. She sat up, the sheets and comforter of the bed crumpling around her. What time was it? How long had she been asleep?

Belatedly, she realized that it wasn't just her internal clock that had woken her up. A steady, persistent beeping was sounding from the end table next to the bed. Kim jumped as she realized it was the Kimmunicator, and snatched it up.

"Wade!"

"Kim!" the computer genius replied. "I've trying to get through to you for the past eight hours! What happened?"

"It's a long story," Kim sighed, and proceeded to explain everything that had happened since they had last spoken: the dinner with Director, the abduction of Dr. Vrishkov, the impromptu trip to Cornwall, the meeting with the Syndicate, and the whole deal with the Black Rabbits, Lucas Cutting and the mole he apparently had in Global Justice.

"Do they just want you and your family to lay low?" Wade asked at the conclusion of Kim's tale.

"I don't know," Kim said. "I hope not. If there's another deranged weirdo out there with an axe to grind against me and Ron, I don't want to sit idle and let other people handle it for me."

Wade nodded, and Kim added, "Could you look up anything about the Syndicate? I want to get a better idea of what they're all about. Director said she trusts them – Rooke at least – but I got the feeling she doesn't really _want _to trust them."

"A relationship of necessity?"

"Exactly," Kim replied.

"I'll see what I can do. Can you give me the names again? It might make the search a little easier."

Kim complied and rattled off the members' names the best she could remember them.

"Uh – let's see – there's Rooke; I think Stephen is his first name. His wife, Margo Gordon – Shego's aunt, by the way," Wade looked a little stunned, but quickly typed her name away for further research. "There are two brothers: Derek and Sutton Queenin. Some guy named John-Paul; don't know his last name. A girl named Angela Pazinski. Oh!" Kim exclaimed, as she came the last.

"And there's this girl named Ronan Anderson!"

"Okay," Wade said, slowly. "Why the outburst?"

"I think she's related to Drakken some how. They look alike . . . I guess. Same facial structure, height, hair."

Wade looked up at her quizzically. "I'll see what I can come up. Try and keep me posted on anything that goes on."

"I will. Hopefully the Kimmunicator won't crap out on me again."

"About that," Wade began, "it wasn't a fluke. I was trying to reach you, but every time I did, my system went haywire. I got bombarded with static, firewalls and Trojan horses. All things I can usually easily handle, but I couldn't break through. Each time I thought I finally hacked through it, the hacking preventions kicked right back up again."

Kim thought about what Director had said on the plane:

" _. . .Angela Pazinski, his sweet little hacker . . . "_

"The girl I mentioned, Angela," Kim explained, "Director said that she was a hacker. She might've been messing with the Kimmunicator signals."

Again, Wade looked a little surprised. "If that's the case, I think she 'turned off' her protection precautions; for the Kimmunicator at least."

"Meaning she can turn them back on at any moment?"

"Yep."

"Okay. I'll see if I can talk her into working with you, or least keeping our communication lines open."

"That'll be helpful. Thanks Kim," and the Kimmunicator's screen went black.

Kim set the device back on the end table and glanced around the dark room. She saw that a thin line of light was seeping in through the crack in the curtains of the bay window. Tentatively, Kim got out of bed and shuffled across the cool wood floor. Peeking outside the window, she saw that the morning haze had been replaced by a brilliantly sunny day; the sun was high in the sky, indicating that it was probably around noon. Kim shoved the curtains open, allowing sunlight to fill the room. From the window, she could see Smithers plodding about the green grounds pushing a wheelbarrow in front of him.

Kim turned back to the room and headed for the dresser that Margo had pointed out earlier. Quickly, she stripped from the dress she had been wearing through the whole ordeal and changed into a simple pair of blue jeans and a white tee-shirt; she was mildly surprised by the exact fit of the clothing to her petite frame. Once she was dressed, she quietly left the room.

Her feet quietly padded down the hall, back towards the balcony overlooking the front room and staircase. The manor was very quiet, and she wondered where everyone – meaning, the Syndicate – had went. She crossed the past the top of the staircase and headed in the direction that Ms. Walsh had led Ron and his family. Just as she turned down the corridor, she bumped into Ron and Rufus.

"Hey K.P.!" he exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders so as to steady the both of them. Rufus quickly scurried across the bridge their arms had made and hugged Kim's cheek.

"Hey," Kim giggled. As she let go of Ron's arms, she noticed that he, too, had changed. His suit had transformed into a simple pair of khakis and a striped polo tee.

"Nice duds," she commented.

"Oh, thanks," Ron said absently, casually looking down at the clothes he had found in the dresser of his room.

"So, I finally got a hold of Wade."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I told him everything that's happening," Kim explained. "He's gonna do some research about the Syndicate, and get back to us."

"Good. This is just . . . weird."

"You're telling me."

By now, the two teens had meandered down the staircase and were aimlessly wandering around the Manor's first floor.

"What do you think their deal is?" Ron asked suddenly as they found their way into a large, wood-paneled room with precious few chairs and couches and one large grand piano placed next to a large window.

"Who? The Syndicate?" Ron nodded, running his fingers along a table that had a few pictures on it. "I dunno. That's what Wade's trying to figure out."

"I mean, how'd did these people get together?" Ron wondered aloud. "It's not like Global Justice, or the Yamanouchi School; they're not government organized or . . . students. They're a completely random mish-mash of people; I can't see what they have in common, or what they have to gain by being here. Right?"

Kim stopped to look at her boyfriend. Rarely was he ever so analytical and complete in his thinking. She stepped beside him and looked at the pictures on the table. Given everything that she had thus accumulated and knew about the Syndicate, she was surprised to see the rather family-esque prints in the expensive frames.

The photos that were there were of a younger Rooke and Margo, and two small boys: a toddler and child who looked to be about nine or ten. Briefly, Kim wondered if Wade's research would turn up anything about Margo and Rooke having children. Perhaps the boys had been lost to one disaster or another, and that was why they had developed the Syndicate. Maybe they felt they were avenging their sons' deaths; if in fact that's who the boys were and that's what had happened to them.

Once again, Kim and Ron found themselves randomly shifting from room-to-room in the Manor, not running into anyone. The house seemed to be completely vacated. That was, until they ended up in the kitchen.

There, they saw Drakken perched on a stool at the long counter in the middle of the tiled room. His face was smushed between his fist and he was glaring angrily down at the counter top's surface. When the two entered, his eyes flicked up them, and Kim saw a fleeting maniac twitch contort his cheek.

"What's up Dr. D-diggity-"

Ron's greeting was cut short by a long green vine that shot out from behind Drakken's back and curled itself around his neck. Ron sputtered and gagged, clawing at the botanical appendage.

"Hey!" Kim cried, lurching forward to try and unravel Ron from Drakken's grip. Before she could reach him, however, Rufus sprung from Ron's shirt pocket and sank his long incisors deep into the vine. Green water squirted from the puncture and the vine quickly unwound itself, and retreated back to Drakken and out of sight.

"Uh, sorry," Drakken said hurriedly, sitting up. "I haven't quite got a grasp on the whole 'controlling the vines' thing."

"Well, get to it, man!" Ron yelled, angrily, rubbing his neck. Drakken crinkled his nose in annoyance at Ron's chide.

"What're you doing?" Kim asked, eying him. She had figured he would've been upstairs with Shego.

Drakken glared at her, his expression a mixture of anger and hurt. "Nothing. I'm just sitting. It's not a crime, is it?"

"Well, no," Kim rebuked. "I just thought that you'd be upstairs with –"

Kim was cut off by the look he was giving her. Typically, she never thought of Drakken as intimidating, much less a threat. The rage bubbling behind his eyes, though, made her stop short. It was a look she had never seen in them before, not even when she had foiled his numerous world domination plans. She wondered what she could've done to warrant such a hateful gaze.

"Upstairs with who?" Drakken spat.

"Oh, you know who," Ron sang, waltzing behind the counter, nudging Drakken with his elbow. Clearly, the 'vibe-change' between Drakken and Shego at breakfast had not been lost on him either. From his pocket, Rufus popped out his head and made a sexy purring sound.

"The whole world saw the award ceremony," Ron continued, leaning against the villain. Drakken's face pulled itself into an uncomfortable grimace as his personal bubble was invaded. "Everyone saw how you _couldn't control _your vines."

Ron's eyebrows bobbed up and down suggestively. "Nice daisy, by the way."

"Nnrgh. You don't know what you're talking about, _buffoon_." Drakken retorted.

"Oh, come on, Drakken," Ron teased. "You do to know. Kim and I saw this coming from a mile away!"

Kim wished in that moment that Ron had not included her in his statement, because the moment he did, Drakken glowered at her with that shiver-inducing stare again. What was going on? What had she done?

"I thought you'd be happy about it," Ron continued. "I mean, you didn't even have any luck with DNAmy, and now you're with Shego – "

"I'm not _with _Shego," Drakken cried, rolling his eyes. "I'm not _with_ anyone. You're wrong."

The last bit was directed specifically at Kim, and she finally entered the conversation.

"But I thought . . . on the space ship, her coming to get you, the ceremony –"

"You were wrong!" Drakken yelled, his voice resonating around the kitchen. Ron took a step back, caught off guard by the Doctor's sudden burst of wrath.

"Whoa. Dude, calm down."

"Don't _'dude'_ me, buffoon! Neither one of you of know anything!"

"Drakken –"

"SHUT UP, KIMBERLY ANN!" Kim jumped at the sheer volume and rage that washed over her. Drakken fumed for a moment before continuing.

"You know what?" he asked, getting up, "You're partly right. However, thanks to you, Shego wants nothing to do with me. So, congratulations. You have once again succeeded in making my life miserable. As if this whole . . . situation," Drakken fumbled, waving his arms around, "wasn't hellish enough, I now have lost my one and only confidant.

"So, just to clear things up: Yes. I would very much like to 'be with Shego'. I care for her enormously. Happy? You're right. And we had just started to figure out what we were to each other, when you suddenly came in with your snide, sneering little face and reminded her that someone like her shouldn't be with someone like me."

Kim stood rooted to the spot as Drakken yelled and scolded her. For the first time she could remember, she didn't have a witty retort for him. Surprisingly, guilt and shame began to build up inside her. She had caused Shego to refuse him?

Drakken continued to stand and stare at his foe, breathing heavily. He glanced over at Ron and Rufus, who both staring at him as if he had three heads. Finally, he turned and stormed out of the kitchen. Kim and Ron stood in silence, trying to process what had just happened.

"What was that?" Ron asked, after a couple of minutes of silence.

Kim continued to stare at the door Drakken had left through.

"I think I broke up Drakken and Shego," Kim said hoarsely, turning to look at Ron.

"What are you talking about?"

Kim sighed. Shame and embarrassment were writhing inside her, and she didn't know why. Perhaps it was because she hadn't meant to get that far under Shego's skin.

"I kind of gave Shego a hard time when we got here," she explained.

"But you guys didn't talk really," Ron pointed out.

"I know. But when we were at breakfast, and it was obvious that something was different between them, I kinda gave her an 'I-told-you-so' look. And then again when Margo took her to her and Drakken's room. I guessed I rubbed it in more than I should've," Kim finished quietly, looking down at her feet.

"I don't know why I did it," she continued. "I just . . . I dunno. I guess, after all the verbal abuse she put me through all these years; I just wanted to make fun of her. I mean, her and Drakken? Really? I know it now seems obvious, but I can't see them going together . . . like that."

Ron watched her carefully as she tried to explain herself.

"You know," he began, trying to pick his words cautiously, "people said the things like that when we first got together."

"Yeah, but that was just Bonnie," Kim scoffed, waving the notion away.

"Yeah, but this is just you," Ron kindly said. "You and I don't really _look_ like we should go together, but we do."

Kim watched Ron with solemn eyes, seeing his point.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Drakken and Shego are kinda like the parable to us," Ron continued.

"You mean paradox?"

"Yeah, sure," Ron replied, unconcerned about his word misuse. "I mean, he's kind of out there and doesn't always think before he does things. And Shego is confident, smart, and good at a lot of things."

"Are you saying Shego and Drakken are just the evil versions of us?" Kim asked perplexed.

Ron stopped, seeing the flaws in his argument. "Ya know, I dunno. But, for whatever reason, they work together; just like us. It doesn't make any sense on the outside. But does it need to?"

Kim smiled softly at her boyfriend. He was being so profound today. She walked toward him and wrapped her arms around him.

"I love you," she said.

"Heh. I love you, too, Kim," Ron said, reciprocating the hug.

"I guess this means I'm gonna have to apologize to Shego and try and make things right."

Ron chuckled, "That's okay. You can do it. You can do anything."

* * *

Somehow Shego had managed to fall asleep for a bit, despite her fight with Drakken. However, when she finally woke, she was surprised how empty the bed felt. Rarely had she wished that there were another body next to her in bed. What was more, she was surprised that, although she and Drakken had only shared a bed once, she found herself missing the weight and warmth of _his_ body next to hers. She stretched out her arm over to empty space next to her, running her fingers over the soft sheets.

Guilt and self-loathing filled her, knowing that the only reason Drakken wasn't next to her at the moment was her fault. Why had she let Kimmie get to her? Why did she care what that stupid brat thought? She was Shego; she wasn't supposed to give a damn about other people's opinions. She had realized what a waste of time caring about other people's opinions was in high school. By the time she turned seventeen, Shego gave up trying to fit in with the popular girls, she gave up trying to impress them . . . stupid cheerleaders.

Shego had realized early on that her intense dislike of Kim Possible partly stemmed from the fact that she was just like all of the popular girls who hadn't given Shego the time of day in high school. Kim was pretty, popular, smart and ambitious; all the things Shego hadn't been and was envious of when she had been Kim's age.

That's why she cared so much about what Kim thought. That's why she had stolen that green leather jacket from Club Banana, after Kim had told her that her black one was out-of-date. That was why she had emotionally crushed Drakken a couple hours earlier, because, deep down, she was still that insecure, gawky teenager vying for the approval of the 'cool girls'.

And now, because of that, she had completely shattered any possibility of being with the one person she actually cared about.

'_You love him, don't you?'_

Her Aunt's words resounded in her head as she thought about her and Drakken's first kiss, first everything. Shego supposed she did love him. But when had that happened? Love wasn't a feeling that spontaneously appeared. Love-at-first-sight, the Romeo-and-Juliet complex, was complete shit, in her opinion.

Shego sat up in the large bed and wondered what time it was. She reached over to the end and adjusted the small time piece there: 12:45 PM. Slowly, she got out of bed and walked around the room, not knowing what to do. Part of her wanted to go find Drakken and apologize, but a bigger part – a prideful part – wouldn't allow it.

Eventually, Shego became stir-crazy and left the room, just for the sake of getting out.

* * *

After Ronan and Karen had chatted for much longer than either one of them could remember, Karen finally decided that she needed to get some rest. Ronan agreed to show her mother to one of the Manor's guest rooms. The two women, along with Turtle, ascended back up into the main house, and Ronan led her mother up another staircase that took them up to the second floor.

Ronan opened the first door to the staircases right and presented a guest room for Karen.

"Thank you," Karen said.

"No problem. There's a bell in the corner if you need anything."

Karen nodded. She bit her bottom lip and looked back at her daughter.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said. She would've liked to add an 'I love you', but she knew that Ronan would not have replied in kind.

"Thanks," Ronan muttered, averting her gaze. "Well, see ya." And she disappeared back down the staircase.

She stalked down a hall that led her past Rooke's study. As she walked by the door, she could her him talking with Du and Carlisle. Angie was in there, too. She was trying to explain the encrypted messages and phone calls she had collected from the Black Rabbits, and from what Ronan could decipher, Will was not being very receptive. She smiled a bit, delighting in the GJ agents's lack of awareness in their own naïveté.

As she turned the corner, intent on finding Sutton, she ran into Drakken. Both of them stopped just short of bumping into each other. Ronan could make out the slightest aura of anger wafting from him, even though he looked surprised to see her.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered, stepping to the side to let her pass. Ronan, however, stayed put.

"It's okay," she said. A brief pause hung in the air before she asked, "Are you okay?"

Drakken, taken aback by the inquiry, stammered, "Yes."

"You know, for a villain, you kinda suck at lying."

Drakken frowned at her. He wanted to say something like 'Don't sass me' but he knew that it probably wasn't a good idea.

"It's just been a long day," he said quietly.

"Did you sleep?" Ronan asked slowly, trying to muster up some pity.

Drakken shook his head, looking at the floor. Ronan frantically searched her mind, trying to come up with something to say. Sutton was right: she innately felt something towards the man in front of her, however fleeting that connection was. And she knew she would disappoint Margo if she didn't at least try to bond with him.

Just as Ronan was about to open her mouth, something down the hall caught her eye. Apparently, Drakken had seen the motion too, because both of them looked down at the corridor's end and saw Shego halted there, staring back at them.

Drakken looked at her, first with an imploring, pining gaze; but that quickly shifted into a hurt glare. Ronan simply eyed the other woman carefully. She was aware that Shego and Drakken were (possibly) romantically inclined; although she didn't have any concrete proof, besides the picture of them at the award ceremony, to back that assumption up. Despite the fact that Ronan was wary about establishing a relationship of her own with Drakken, she couldn't deny that the fact that Shego knowing her own father better than she did annoying to her. Therefore, Shego annoyed her, and Ronan wouldn't hesitate to put the green villainess in her place if need be.

Shego hesitated, battling the emotional urge to go over and to try and explain herself to Drakken and the mental pride that kept her from moving forward. Aside from that, the thing that had initially stopped her was the image of Drakken and Ronan standing next to each other. Somehow, the photos that Karen had showed her earlier did not capture the likeness between father and daughter as much as seeing them side-by-side in the flesh. Once again, Shego felt the odd, unwelcome roil of jealousy bubble up inside of her. After a second more, she walked away, leaving the two behind.

Once Shego had gone, Ronan looked back at Drakken. He was still staring at the point where Shego had been, a hurt, sorrowful look washing over his face. Maybe things weren't as lovey-dovey as Ronan had previously thought.

Suddenly, Ronan felt the urge to bolt, to get out of this situation, and away from this hallway. That happened sometimes when she felt uncomfortable.

However, she wrestled past the urge (just as Margo had instructed her to do several times) and said, "Do you want to go for a walk?"

Drakken looked back at her, a bit stunned by the suggestion.

"Yes," he said firmly.

"Well, let's go then," Ronan replied, slipping down the hall, towards the front room.

* * *

While Vrishkov was able to find several interesting items among the piles and piles of alien debris that Cutting had put in several, large, tin garages just outside his Sardinian mansion, he was thus far unsuccessful in locating something that fit Cutting's needs.

Once the nasty, burning after-effects of the nerve gas had run out of Vrishkov's system, Cutting had the scientist escorted to these off-site buildings to look through and fix the damaged alien technology. The only guidance Cutting had given him was: "I want something lethal. Something that can take down cities."

Vrishkov politely complied; knowing Cutting was a man to say 'no' to. However, inwardly, Vrishkov scoffed at the request. How was he supposed to come up with such a weapon when he knew nothing about the Lorwardians?

'_Foolish, crazy man,'_ Vrishkov thought.

Nevertheless, Vrishkov dutifully sifted through the mounds of metal before him, looking for something he could show his new 'employer'. Despite the hostile circumstances that had brought Vrishkov to this place, he couldn't deny the excitement he felt as he ran his gnarled fingers over the alien technology in front of him. All his life, he had dreamed of studying legitimate alien species, proving to the world that they were not alone in space. Being employed by Area 51 partly brought his dream to fruition. However, his research and knowledge had to be kept a secret, of course. Now, that earth had been briefly invaded, the question 'Is there intelligent life out in space?' could be put to rest, and Dr. Vrishkov could share what he knew.

As he picked through broken drones and other pieces of scrap metal, he was presented with yet another problem: deciphering the Lorwardian runes etched into the objects in front of him. While he had studied some alien languages at Area 51, the territory of foreign intergalactic symbols was still new to him, and the Lorwardian script was one he had not seen before. Some symbols looked vaguely familiar, but most of them were indistinguishable.

Dr. Vrishkov had been in this tin garage for four hours now, and a lack of air conditioning and absorption of sunrays by the metal roof had made the atmosphere inside very hot. The doctor had removed his lab coat, and rolled up the sleeved of his white button up shirt. Every couple of minutes he would have to dab away the beads of sweat on his forehead, and slide his glasses back up his sweaty nose. As awful as the purpose for his job was, Vrishkov hoped he would find something soon, so that Cutting could release him and he could go home to his air-conditioned condo outside of Las Vegas.

As he picked through the last of the pile in front of him, Vrishkov's hand closed around a small metal box. He picked it up and inspected it closely. It fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, and it appeared to be intact; not a scratch on it or piece missing, an unusual find considering almost everything he had looked at thus far was broken in some way. He sat back on a hunk of metal and observed it further. Like most everything else, it had the mysterious runes embossed on it, as well as other designs that Vrishkov didn't know if they were more words, or simply decorative. He noticed that on top of the box the symbol that had been marked across the male alien's chest stood prominent. Vrishkov brushed his fingers across it; it almost felt as if, were it pressed, it would give way and sink into the box's surface.

Before Vrishkov could test his theory, a loud whining sound alerted him to someone opening the garage's door. He looked over the pile to see Cutting step in, carrying a tray with a basket, pitcher and two cups upon it.

"Come, Dr. V!" Cutting cried, setting the tray on a table-sized piece of debris. "It's lunchtime."

Still holding the box in his hand, Vrishkov got up and walked over to the spread. It was simple: water and a flat, crispy bread that black-clad Sardinian women made in stone hearths in the bakeries just a few miles from Cutting's mansion.

"Have you found anything yet?" Cutting asked nonchalantly, as he set up a makeshift chair to sit on.

"Not yet," Vrishkov said, tearing a piece of bread. "Nothing that will suit your purposes."

A small frown pulled at the corners of Cutting's thin lips. Surely there had to be something dangerous among these piles. The Lorwardian drones had caused significant damage across the globe. How could the aliens not have other weapons?

Cutting glanced down at the object Vrishkov was holding in his hands: a small, unassuming black box.

"What's that?"

Vrishkov finished a gulp of water and said, "I'm not sure. I found it at the bottom of the pile."

Cutting held out his hand, and Vrishkov reluctantly placed the box in his palm. Cutting carefully scrutinized the box, long fingers running along the grooves of the embossed designs. As he ran the tips of his fingers over the design on top of the box, he had the same thought that Vrishkov did. He softly pressed the raised symbols and they gave way to the push, sinking into the box.

The symbol had barely become flushed with the rest of the surface and Cutting suddenly dropped the box, letting out a small cry. The box hit the ground with a '_THUD_' that did not match its small size. The design that Cutting had pressed had lit up with a bright red color, and the two men could see that it was slowly rising back to its original position. When it had returned to its original state, the red color faded away, and after a moment there was a loud, muffled 'boom', as if a mine had gone off beneath Cutting and Vrishkov's feet. The building shuddered with the reverberation, and, inexplicably, the garage and the piles of debris began to crumble into the giant sinkhole the box was creating.

Hurriedly, both Cutting and Vrishkov ran from the garage, leaving the box and bread behind. The two men ran down the dusty path leading away from the garage, having difficulty keeping steady as the ground beneath their feet was shaking slightly. Finally, when the soft rumbling and screeching of metal had stopped, they slowed their pace, coming to a stop. After catching their breath, they looked behind them.

The tin building was gone, along with everything inside it. In its place, a large crater sat, still smoking with dust and metallic ash. As the haze cleared, Cutting could see that the box lay at the edge of the crater, unharmed. A smile began to curl his lips.

"That will suit me just fine."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!

There should be one more chapter of exposition and character development before we begin to get into the meat of the matter. Wooo! Story meat!

I always liked the concept of Shego being the weird, unpopular girl when she was Kim's age. It gives her yet another reason not to like her. I never saw Shego as a 'Kim clone' when she was Kim's age, and I hope the story's readers like the idea as much as I do.

I hopefully will start chapter nine tomorrow, and I will try to get that up ASAP.

In the meantime, please read and review! I love the feedback I get; it encourages me to keep writing :) Have a good week everyone!


	9. Engines and Origins

**A/N: **I'm back! And with a two chapter update! _  
_

Sorry it took me so long to getting around to updating this story. Life happened, ya know?

Originally, this chapter and chapter 10 were going to be one edition. However, as I got to writing page 30 I was like: "I should probably split this up . . . Yeeeeeaaaahhhh..."

I also discovered a continuity problem with Ronan while writing this chapter. So, just to clear things up (and for my own peace of mind): Ronan was born in 1985, and graduated high school when she was 14 (2000). She then graduated from MIT in 3 1/2 years (meaning she graduated in December of 2003) when she was eighteen. She met Sutton/ the Syndicate when she was seventeen (in early 2003).

Anyway, I want to continued to thank my readers and reviewers! I appreciate you guys so much! Thanks for hanging in there with me and I hope you find these next couple of chapters adequate! Please R&R! :DDDDD

**Friendly Disclaimer: **I do not own any Kim Possible related characters, recognizable names or countries. I do own the Syndicate and its members, as well as Agent Minka and Cutting.

* * *

_- Lucas, I've been found out._

There was a pause before he wrote back a response to the message.

_- Do they know it's you?_

_- I don't believe so._

_- Well then, carry on the charade, my Love. I'll arrange it so that Director and Rooke spin their wheels._

_- Yes, sir._

Another pause punctuated the conversation.

_- What new information have you found out?_

_- Director had Possible, Stoppable and their families transplanted to Rooke's Manor in Mullion Cove. Derek Queenin and John-Paul brought Drakken, Shego and a woman named Karen Anderson._

_- What's her significance?_

_- She's Ronan Anderson's – one of Rooke's agents – mother. From what I understand, she was with Drakken and Shego when they were apprehended. _

_At the moment, no affirmative action has been planned. I believe they are waiting for you to make the first move._

_- How ironic that I should play the white in this game._

_- Has Vrishkov found anything yet?_

_- He has. I plan on taking the weapon for a test drive before I begin any serious advances. I anticipate Global Justice, Syndicate, and possibly the Red Palms to show up to the test site, so we must work swiftly and delicately._

_- Yes, sir._

_- In the meantime, continue to be compliant and make nice._

_- Yes, sir._

* * *

It was pleasantly warm as Drakken and Ronan left the Manor for their stroll. The sun shone radiantly and an occasional cool breeze blew around them.

With Ronan a few steps in front of Drakken, they began down a path that led around the Manor to the back. The back yard was as infinitely large as the front, with a stone veranda jutting out from the manor itself to a large garden with immaculately pruned shrubs and bushes and elaborate floral arrangements dressed about arbors and in large pots.

As the pair entered the garden path through a particularly large wooden arbor, woven with various vines and small, colorful flowers, Drakken's own tendrils began to creep out and harness themselves to the latticework without him noticing. As he tried to walk through the gate's exit, he was pulled back by the configuration his plants had made.

"Hhngh!" he choked as he stumbled back, the plants having stopped him from moving forward.

Ronan halted, looked behind her, and grinned vaguely as she saw the predicament her father was in. She stepped towards him and began to help him sort through the vines, distinguishing which were his and untangling them from the wood.

Once he was free, he took a few irritated steps away from the arbor, frowning, and shuddered.

"So, what's the deal with the plants?" Ronan asked, beginning to walk in tandem with Drakken.

"Huh? Oh," Drakken muttered sheepishly. "It was an accident. Just before the invasion, I created a super hypollinator, and, partially thanks to Kim Possible, I ended up getting soaked in the plant mutagen I created for it."

"Ooookay. Are the effects going to eventually wear off?" Ronan asked, "Because those petals are ridiculous."

"Nnrgh. I'm aware, thank you," Drakken growled.

The pair continued to walk lazily around the garden in awkward silence, neither one knowing how to breach an actual conversation or able to figure out what to talk about.

"How much did Mom tell you about me?" Ronan finally asked. She didn't typically like to start conversations; the act of making the other person speak first gave her the upper hand in discussions, and she liked the power. However, that question had been burning inside her since she found out that Karen had sought Drakken out.

Drakken paused briefly before answering. Honestly, he was still reeling over the fact that she – _his _offspring – was a genius. So he said, "She told me you graduated high school and fourteen and then went on to graduate from MIT with a double major in –"

He trailed off, forgetting what Karen said she had studied.

"Mechanical engineering and nuclear science," Ronan filled in.

"Yes. That was it," he muttered. There was a pause and then he asked, "How old were you?"

"Seventeen."

Drakken felt his heart swell.

'_Sure, James' daughter can save the world. But she's an intellectual midget compared to mine.'_

"What else did she tell you?"

"Huh?" Drakken uttered, not hearing the question. He was trying to come up with a plan where he could bring up Ronan's superior intelligence to James Possible and gloat about it.

"What else did she tell you?" Ronan repeated. Something about the tone of the question was off.

"She – er –" Drakken stammered. Was he supposed to remember something in particular?

"Did she tell you I was crazy?" Ronan demanded.

"What? No!"

"Because I'm not!"

"No! She didn't – "Drakken spluttered. _That_ came out of nowhere.

Ronan had turned to face him, a strange expression covering her face that was in stark contrast with her previous claim.

"She didn't say that," Drakken said, as kindly and firmly as he could. Ronan fixed him with a piercing stare, her amber eyes boring into his soul.

"She didn't tell you that I spent most of my adolescence in and out of psychiatrists' offices? That they diagnosed me with some bogus 'conduct – anti – social personality disorder'?"

"Well, she did mention something about that," Drakken admitted.

Ronan rolled her eyes and made a 'tsch' sound with her tongue.

"I'm not crazy," she repeated.

"No one said you were."

There was a moment's silence as the awkward abruptness of the past conversation hung in the air.

Finally, the wildness dimmed in Ronan's eyes and she muttered, "Sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

"It's okay," Drakken replied.

"Mom and I don't really get along," Ronan explained. "If that isn't already obvious."

She had resumed walking, and Drakken took up the space beside her.

"She mentioned something about that as well. Although, she really didn't say why."

Drakken glanced sideways at her, expectantly. Karen had not been too descriptive about why her relationship with Ronan was rocky, and was hoping that Ronan could fill him in.

Ronan shrugged. "I like her just fine, I guess. She's my mother; I don't hate her. We just don't . . . click.

"I don't know why," she continued, "just some of the things she says and does bother me."

Ronan was careful not to divulge too much. Despite the fact that she had been wondering and yearning for her father, she was unwilling to admit to Drakken that he had taken such a toll on the mother and daughter's relationship. This wasn't because she didn't want him to feel 'bad' about causing a rift between the two women. Rather, Ronan did not want to come off as needy or weak. She didn't like to appear reliant on others – yet another reason for the strain between her and her mother – and she felt that if she had admitted to Drakken that he had been on her mind for several years that he would view her as some overly dependent, subservient child.

Just reflecting on the memories of the times she had spent wondering about her father stirred up a wave of self-loathing and hostility. How could she be so stupid? So pathetic?

"Ronan?"

Ronan jumped slightly, having been sucked up into her head and completely forgetting about the world around her. She glanced over at Drakken, who was looking at her, a questioning look etched across his face.

"Sorry. I zoned out for a minute." Ronan cleared her throat, searching her mind for a new topic. "What made you want to start trying to take over the world?" she finally asked.

Drakken sighed and embarked on the verbal journey. "I used to be school chums with James Possible and few other of his current colleagues. We all went to the Middleton Institute of Science and Technology, and in our senior year the science department was hosting a Mixer. It was my job to find dates for all of us –"

Drakken broke off, as embarrassment washed over him. "However, I was not successful in finding any girls willing to go with any of us, so, as a supplement, I created robots that we could escort to the dance."

"Are you serious?"

"Sadly, yes," Drakken groaned. "Anyway, needless to say, they laughed at me. It was shortly after that I dropped out of college, and . . . met your mother."

Ronan tried not to appear too interested; aside from not sharing her father's identity, Karen had also kept very mum about her life prior to Ronan's birth.

Drakken shook his head, "I eventually decided I wanted to show my former-friends that they were wrong, that I could build robots and other such things. I guess, eventually, I just projected their cruelty on the rest of the world, and I wanted revenge against everyone. That's where the world domination goal began I suppose."

"When did you get together with Saoirse?"

"Er – I would recommend you call her Shego. She has a thing about being called by her real name," Drakken warned.

Ronan looked at him dully and pursed her lips.

"Let's see, I met Shego a little over five years ago, I believe," Drakken said, trying to jog his memory. "After a few years of going solo in the villain business, with no significant advances, I decided to try the sidekick and henchmen route."

"And how did that work out?"

Drakken frowned at the girl, "There's no need to rub my face in it."

Ronan didn't apologize and continued on with the conversation, "What're you gonna do now? Now that your record is wiped clean and you're free?"

Drakken hadn't really thought about it and answered honestly. "I don't know, especially in light of the recent circumstances."

"Yes, well, hopefully we can stop Cutting before he does too much damage, and you can get back to your life."

Drakken was slightly taken aback by the firmness of her statement. As if she had excluded herself from his future altogether. He struggled for a moment, trying to decide how he could express that he wanted to establish some kind of relationship with her without being too forward. After a moment's contemplation, he decided against saying anything.

"Your mother _really _didn't tell me much about you," Drakken led. Ronan glanced sideways at him, waiting for him to finish. "Perhaps you could tell me about yourself. Aside from the schooling."

Ronan didn't answer, looking straight ahead. Drakken knit his brows in frustration; he was trying to make an effort here! Very seldom had he ever cared to learn so much about a person, and here he was – damn near begging – for a little enlightenment. She had instigated the walk after all. Drakken felt that if anyone should be probing for information, it should be him.

After a beat, Ronan reached into her jeans pocket, taking out a cigarette and her lighter. She stuck the stick between her lips and lit it.

"Do I get to ask you questions?" she asked, blowing the first puff of smoke through her lips.

"Sure."

"Okay. Shoot."

Drakken quickly searched his brain for a question to ask. He was mildly distracted by the haze of cigarette smoke wafting over him, and he wrinkled his nose at the nicotine scent.

"How long have you been a smoker?" was the first question he asked, unable to mask his disgust. He tried to discreetly wave away the smoke from his face.

Again, Ronan chose to glance sideways at him instead of looking at him head on, her pierced eyebrow rising surreptitiously.

"Since I was thirteen," she answered. "Does it bother you?"

Drakken adjusted his shoulders uncomfortably, "It's not good for you."

"Hmmm." For a second, Drakken thought she was about to defiantly blow a large plume of smoke in his face. But, instead, she exhaled the smoke through her nostrils, crushed the cigarette on the heel of her boot, and pocketed the remaining butt.

"I take it you don't smoke?"

"I use it," he admitted. "Quit about ten years ago."

"Well, good on you."

Another moment passed, and when it was clear that Ronan did not have a question to ask, Drakken said, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Ronan stopped dead and finally turned to face him.

"Jesus! You and Mom, what is it with you two? You both seem to find that more interesting than the fact that I've spent the last few years working for a fucking vigilante program," Ronan raved.

Drakken blinked at her. "So, no?"

Irritated, Ronan ran her hand through her Mohawk, causing chunks of hair to stick out at odd angles.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she retorted, crossing her arms across her flat chest.

Drakken blanched at the question, as his mind was brought back to his argument with Shego, and then Kim Possible. He thought about how much he would've liked to say 'yes', but Shego's rant about how their kiss and everything that followed was a mistake drowned the answer.

Finally, he swallowed and said, "No."

Ronan's hostile expression and posture did not change. Although, she did notice the unnecessary pause he had taken before answering, and how his answer sounded hurt and resentful. After a moment of looking at each other, Drakken slowly began to walk again. Ronan watched him take a few forced steps before she began to follow.

"So, you're not in a relationship with Saoir – Shego," Ronan corrected. She watched her father's face carefully as it darkened at the sound of her name.

"Sorry," she said. "I just assumed, you know, because of the picture from the award ceremony."

"Yes, well, you know what they say when you _assume_," Drakken growled.

Ronan's eyebrows lifted, amused at his anger. Clearly, her father was twistedly sweet on his young partner, and it was also clear, by his manner, that she did not feel the same; or something like that.

The pair continued to walk around the garden in silence; Drakken too annoyed and hurt by the happenings earlier that day to ask Ronan anymore questions. Ronan, herself, was a bit surprised that he had stopped talking to her, and she began to feel a little sorry for the man at her side. Pity was an uncommon emotion for her. When it did pop up, she typically squelched it with feelings and actions of exasperation and aggression. In this case, however, she found herself trying to pull Drakken out of his current funk. Why, she did not know.

"Don't you have anymore questions?" she asked.

Drakken looked over at her, almost forgetting he wasn't alone.

"Oh. Uh," he muttered, trying to come up with something.

Suddenly, Ronan stepped in front of him, and he stopped. The two locked eyes for a second before Ronan thrust out a long arm, her right hand – her 'Good' hand – extended.

"Ronan Grace Anderson: Six-foot three, one hundred and thirty-three pounds, super genius, mechanist and weapons expert and designer for Rooke's Syndicate. My favorite book is Catcher in the Rye, I like cats, I have four tattoos and sixteen piercings, I've dyed my hair every conceivable color except blonde, I'm a second-generation trust fund baby, and my best friend is Sutton Queenin."

Drakken blinked at her, a bit stunned by the sudden introduction of herself. Slowly, he reached forward and grasped Ronan's hand. It was a cold boney thing, but it was strong. Her long fingers squeezed his warm, fleshy mitt and a small, sly grin tugged the right corner of her mouth.

"Your middle name is Grace?" he asked as they broke the shake.

"Yeah. Why?"

Drakken shrugged casually. "I've always liked that name."

Karen had known he liked that name. He had told her one evening when they were in bed, lying curled up in a wonderful warm after-glow, perhaps Ronan's conception. Inexplicable warmth was filling his chest as he remembered the moment.

The pair continued their garden stroll, and while it was mainly void of conversation, the silence was surprisingly not awkward. After walking for about half an hour, they found themselves back on the driveway, near the cul-de-sac where the carriage house was. As they approached the rounded end, they could hear the clanking of tools and soft curses of Reginald. Once they were near enough to the opened carriage house, they could see that he was struggling with his flat bed truck and a car jack. The hood of the vehicle was propped open and several cords and wires were springing out of it, and the smell of burnt oil filled the air. Reginald was struggling with an old rusty hand-cranked scissor car jack, trying to open the handles enough so that the tool could actually lift the chassis of the truck. However, the jack was so caked is rust and grime that the effort he was putting forward seemed fruitless.

"Why don't you use the pneumatic jack I made for you?" Ronan exasperatedly asked.

" 'Cause I'm usin' that ter hold up that big Oak branch that cracked durin' that thunderstorm last month," the old man snarled.

Drakken stepped towards Reginald and offered some assistance. Defeated, Reginald handed him the jack. Drakken struggled with the tool for a couple minutes, trying to turn the torn bolts and wrench open the stuck legs to no avail. As he grumbled, trying to fix the thing, he thought about the time he couldn't get a stupid pickle jar open and had to get Shego to do it. Maybe Shego could get the car jack to function. However, thinking of her only made Drakken angry, and his form sloppy. After several frustrated grunts, he handed the jack to Ronan.

"There's not enough WD-40 in the world to get this thing working," she said, turning it over in her hands. "What're you trying to do? What's wrong with the truck?"

"Same ol', same ol'," Reginald answered. "Engine's busted up. Burnin' oil. The body's pullin' away from the chassis, an' the front axle is torqued wonky again."

"Reg," Ronan begged, "_please_ let me build you a new truck."

Reginald shook his head. "Thank you kindly, Ms. Anderson, but no thank ye. I'll be with Mamie until she's all falled apart."

"But she _is _falling apart," Drakken pointed out.

Reginald tucked his lips into his gums. "Then 'til she – what is it called? – spontaneously combusts!"

"Did I see a flame thrower in that work shop you were in, in the basement?" Drakken whispered to Ronan.

She waved the suggestion aside and said, "Let me go get some tools from the Shop. What do you know about automotive mechanics?" she asked, turning to Drakken.

"Not as much as my cousin, but I can get my way around a car. Eventually."

"Great," Ronan upbraided, turning on her heel and heading towards the manor, "you can hand me tools then."

Drakken scowled slightly at her distrust of him, but did not argue it. Ronan had left for not two minutes before she was stalking back out of the manor, lugging a large toolbox, and being followed by John-Paul.

"Truck causing trouble again, Reg?" the giant asked.

"Aye," Reginald sighed.

Ronan walked past the group and into the carriage house. She returned a moment later with a wooden creeper. She placed it on the ground and turned to John-Paul.

"Alright," she sighed, "you ready?"

"Yes Ma'am," John-Paul answered.

He stepped in front of the truck's car, squatted down, and tucked his large hands under the bumper. Then, in one swift, impossibly easy movement, he stood back up, lifting the truck as easily as if it were cardboard.

"Okay. Please don't drop it on my face," Ronan said, sitting on the creeper and wheeling herself under the front axle, monkey wrench in hand.

* * *

Not long after Drakken had bitched out Kim, did she and Ron leave the kitchen. As they walked down the hall, back towards the parlor, they ran into both of their parents.

"Oh! Kimmie! There you are," Mrs. Dr. Possible exclaimed.

"Hey! Did you guys sleep okay?"

"Surprisingly, yes," her father replied

"Hana, Jim and Tim still sleeping?" Ron asked.

"Yes, she's out like a light. I assume the boys are, too," Mrs. Stoppable said, turning to the Possibles.

"Oh yes," Mr. Dr. Possible chuckled. "They can sleep pretty much under any circumstance."

"Have you guys seen Shego?" Kim asked, somewhat quietly, a little embarrassed that she was asking.

Her mother looked at her with a kind puzzled expression. "I'm afraid not, Kimmie. Why? Is everything okay?"

"Er – yeah," Kim muttered, sheepishly. "I just needed to talk to her."

Kim really didn't feel like explaining to her mother that she needed apologize to the vixen for making fun of her. Kim generally refrained from engaging in any type of bullying, even when Bonnie tried to goad Kim into petty catfights, she rarely responded in kind. With Shego it was different. After years a physical and verbal abuse, it had felt undeniably good in the moment to lord something over Shego's head. But now, in the aftermath, it had left Kim feeling guilty. She was really no better than Bonnie. She just needed to apologize, and hoped that would set things right, to some extent.

Just as Kim was going to excuse herself to go look for Shego, a door down the hall opened and Will Du poked his head out.

"Possible! Can you come here for a moment, please?"

The sudden beckoning startled Kim, but she complied and headed for the room Will was in. Close behind her, Ron and their parents followed.

Once they were all in the room – apparently a Study of sorts – they saw that Rooke, Will, Minka and Angela were there. Angela was sitting in a regal leather chair, her arms slightly extended in front of her. On her hands, she wore a strange pair of fingerless gloves. It was these gloves that seem to be the energy source of the sheer screens under her hands and in front of her person; clearly the gloves generated a holographic, monitor-less computer system and keyboard.

"KIM!"

Kim jumped slightly at the outburst that seemed to have come near Angela. It was then she belatedly realized that Wade was on one of the screens. He looked scared and frantic.

"Wade!" Kim jogged across the room, over the Angela. "What're you doing? What's wrong?"

"Kim! Don't let her fry anymore of my systems!"

Behind Wade, Kim saw that two of his smaller computer screens were cracked, the screen images opaque with static, and smoking slightly.

"What're you doing?" Kim asked Angela.

"Why is he trying to hack into my stuff?" Angela hissed dangerously. Her tone took Kim back a bit. It seemed completely out of character for the girl who seemed very sweet and cheerful when they were first introduced. Her left pinky floated over a button on the keyboard, and pressed it.

"Aah! Kim! Make her stop!" Wade yelled, rolling his chair over the other side of his room, where another monitor was beginning to make a loud whirring sound as bright, overly contrasted images flew across its screen.

"Angela, please stop," Kim begged. Angela didn't look at her; instead she shifted her left hand over to another button of the keyboard, her index hanging over it forebodingly. "I ask him to get some information on you guys!"

Angela looked up at Kim, glaring. Then she pressed the button next to the one she had been threatening to push. The computer in Wade's room that was being affected quieted down and the screen went blank. Wade sighed in relief, his panic attack subsiding. He tiredly wrapped his arms around the computer and rested his head on top of it; a nerd hug.

"Why?" Angela asked.

Kim gulped and looked over at Rooke, who was leaning against his desk, quietly observing.

"I just," Kim started, "wanted to find out more about you. About the Syndicate. I wanted to find out who you guys were and what you were all about."

"Why didn't you just ask?" Angela asked, irked.

Kim tried to answer, but couldn't. She hadn't thought that simply asking would garner her any information. It had been in her experience that with secret organizations, such as Syndicate, were not keen on answering questions, and that going the sneaky route was really the only ways to get accurate information.

After a moment of Kim simply gaping at her, Angela rolled her eyes and tore off her gloves. The screens in front of her disappeared and she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"I'm actually a little interested myself," Minka chimed in. "Dr. Director hasn't told me a whole lot about your organization, Mr. Rooke."

"I have no issues in sharing our past with any of you," Rooke stated. "We must have trust in one another if we are to stop Cutting."

At his words, Kim felt slightly embarrassed. He was right. In order to stop a megalomaniac, they needed to have at least a little trust between them.

"You all might want to have a seat," Rooke said. "This could get rather lengthy."

The group in the room slowly dispersed and took seats on chairs and on couches. Angela got up and offered her seat to Kim, who took it hesitantly. She then snatched a pile of papers and folders from the large desk behind her and headed for the study door.

"I'm going to go fax these to Director."

Once the guests had taken their seats and Angela was out of the room, Rooke sat himself in a large high-back chair and leaned into the cushion, crossing his legs.

"I suppose I should start before I even formed Syndicate," Rooke began. "My father was a Episcopal priest in a small village called Staffordbrooke, outside of London. After my mother died in 1954, as a way to cope with that loss, he decided to begin a small travelling parish. We left, along with a group of about ten, Staffordbrooke in 1956 and began going to destitute countries offering aide and faith. We travelled to India, Africa, the Middle East, wherever my father felt that God was leading him.

"I saw several terrible things: starving children, people mutilated by abuse or extremely poor living conditions, corrupt governments ignoring their nation, entire populations beaten down, deprived of common necessities."

Even though Rooke had not delved too deep into his story, the room was enwrapped. Minka was next to a sour looking Will, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, face in her hands. Ron and his parents, who had taken up the room's couch, watched him intently; Rufus perched on Ron's shoulder, mouth slightly agape. Kim's parents took the two captain chairs closest to Rooke, holding hands, eyes fixed upon the storyteller. Kim, still seated in Angela's vacated seat, listened critically to Rooke's tale.

"As I grew older, my father pressured me to follow the same path as he. And while I saw and felt the need to help others, I was doubtful that religion was the way to go about it.

"So, as I'm sure you can surmise, I did not go into priesthood. But I still travelled around to third world countries, helping in anyway that I could. I have a rather hefty trusts and inheritances from my mother – this Manor, for one – and from my father, so having the monetary assets to provide different forms of aid was rarely an issue

"When I was eighteen, my father passed away, and since I was not ardent on joining the clergy, his followers slowly disbanded."

"Where did they go?" Ron asked.

Rooke shrugged. "Back to Staffordbrooke, I suppose. I had no family to speak of once my father died, so I decided that if I couldn't honor him in faith, I would do so in benevolence.

"However, over the years, I noticed that there seemed to be an inverse relationship between the help I was giving and the amount of good it did. No matter how medicine, food, or clothes I provided to impoverished peoples, there was always something that destroyed it: corrupt governments, revolutions, terrorist attacks, guerrilla warfare, slavery, the list goes on and on.

"I grew frustrated that I couldn't seem to make a dent against the pain and suffering that I saw. Nevertheless, I plodded on; hopping from country to country, village to village, because I had to believe that there was some kind of good in the world, even if it was not God's good.

"Then, in 1979, while I was in Tibet, I met Margo. She had just graduated from graduate school with a PhD. in psychiatry, and had decided to take a break from school and the practice to join the Peace Corps.

"I have to admit, I was infatuated with her from the start. We spoke for hours about everything: politics, religion, and ethics, wanting to leave our mark on the world. She listened to my stories about travelling in my own makeshift peace corps. She listened to me bellyache about my woes, about the injustice I had seen, and how nothing I was doing seemed to be working. She sympathized and suggested that I should 'unofficially' join her unit, saying that the 'weight of the world cannot rest on the shoulders of one man'; she still affectionately refers to me as 'Atlas'," he said with an abashed grin.

"So, that's what I did; I clung to Margo and her Peace Corps unit like a remora. She and I became very close, and it wasn't long until we got married. In 1979, her unit, plus myself, were transported to a remote village in Rwanda. We had stayed there for a few months in relative peace, teaching the village's children, providing them with food and other common necessities.

"It was August when the violence broke out. I still don't know where it came from, or who instigated it, but for two days the sound of grenades, machine guns, and screams were the only things to be heard. The air was thick with dust and smoke, and it smelled on gun powder and burning flesh," Rooke's voice had gone stony and his face darkened. "We huddled in a poorly constructed bomb shelter in the school with as manner villagers as we could fit. After two days, the fire fight ended almost as quickly as it had started."

"And you don't know who attacked you?" Kim asked, shocked.

Rooke shook his head. "After the firing had stopped for a couple of hours, myself and another man from the Peace Corps went outside to inspect the damage and look for survivors. The few we found did not last for more than a day. As I was dragging bodies from the brush, trying to distinguish who they were, I ran into a boy.

"I didn't recognize him from the village, but he wasn't dressed like a guerrilla warrior either. He looked shell-shocked and sickly. It took some coaxing, but I finally got him to follow me back to the village."

Kim didn't know how she made the realization, but she said, "John-Paul?"

Rooke nodded slowly. "After we moved all the bodies away from the village, and the shaman performed the burial rights and rituals for the dead, Margo and I went to go speak with him. He couldn't have been more than fifteen at the time, but he didn't tell us his age, his name, or where he had come from. His English was impeccable, and he could read and write. For the next few weeks, as things started to get back to normal, he would help us teach the spared children. He read what seemed like a book a day, and he picked out a name from one of the books for us to call him: John-Paul.

"From that point on, he stuck by mine and Margo's side. He still has never told us his real name or where he is from," Rooke said, wistfully. "After a year in Rwanda, our unit was moved yet again. Eventually, two newcomers were designated to our Peace Corps unit. A young married couple, originally from Montreal, then Minnesota, and their young son. This was 1981, I believe. Margo and I had been married for a little over two years, and had been unable to have any children of our own, so we became extremely close to George and Susan and their son, Derek."

Everyone in the room shifted slightly, leaning in, as if they had heard incorrectly. The look Rooke gave them confirmed that the 'boy Derek' was the same as the man who had picked up Drakken and Shego.

"George, Susan, and Derek became like family to Margo and myself. Derek was about eight or nine at the time, and took to following John-Paul around like a little lamb," Rooke smiled briefly, fondly remembering.

"A couple years later, Susan became pregnant again, and even though Margo urged her and George to back to Minnesota, they insisted on staying with the group. Nine months later, Sutton was born in shed on the border of Somalia and Ethiopia.

"Luckily for us, there had not been any serious violent occurrences since that attack in Rwanda," Rooke said and then paused. He swallowed and continued, "A little more than a year after Sutton's birth, our unit was going to be transported via U.N. army caravan into Yugoslavia. This was 1983, so the tension in Yugoslavia was beginning to get severe.

"George, Susan and Sutton were loaded into one truck with other Peace Corps members and soldiers, and Margo, John-Paul and myself into another. Derek wanted to ride with John-Paul, so he climbed in with us. There were three caravans in the convoy, and we were the last vehicle." Rooke took another pause before he continued.

"About fifteen miles into the trip, the caravan in front of us – carrying George, Susan, Sutton and several other friends – hit a land mind. Our own truck swerved off the road to avoid the shrapnel and rolled over. Thankfully, none of us were hurt. Physically, at least.

"Before I could stop her, Margo scrambled out of our wreck and ran towards the blown up truck. Once we were all out of the turned vehicle, I went over to fetch her. She was kneeling over what was left of Susan, just a torso and arms. It was then I realized that a baby was crying. Somehow, Sutton made it out of the explosion mostly unscathed. Margo was holding him.

"Soon after losing Susan and George, Margo and I left the Peace Corps. We took in Derek and Sutton as our own children."

Kim remembered back to the photos she and Ron had seen earlier. So the boys in the frames were Derek and Sutton . . .

" John-Paul stayed with us, too; although, I would never consider him our child. Even though he's never spoken about his life before us, I know he's lived through and seen enough that he was hardly given a chance to be a child. He has always been a good friend and confidant.

"After Margo and I left the Peace Corps, we took Derek, Sutton, and John-Paul and came to live here. Margo reinitiated her psychiatry practice, as well as taking on the role of mother and teacher. We home-schooled Derek and Sutton," Rooke explained.

"I continued to work as a philanthropist, though not with the same fervor as when I was younger. After George and Susan's deaths, both Margo and myself lost a significant amount of faith in humanity. And the world, I suppose. Even as I tried to conduct help from here, I felt like it was no good. As they grew, Derek and John-Paul agreed with me; they had experienced inequity and injustice first-hand, after all.

"Eventually, with Margo's support, I gave up on philanthropy altogether. Neither of us could see the good in simply 'giving'," he nearly spat. "In order to help others, one must also _take_."

At first, Kim didn't understand what he meant. Then, given what Director had told her about the Syndicate – about them not 'playing by the rules' – she realized that Rooke was referring to taking lives, taking property, taking freedoms. Just taking.

"There must be some kind of balance in all aspects of life," Rooke continued. "An athlete must exercise all their muscle groups, otherwise they will sacrifice their sport. A student must study each of his courses; otherwise he will sacrifice his marks. One cannot simply help the world be delivering good deeds," his eyes flicked over to Kim briefly, "you must remove the reason why those good deeds are needed in the first place."

"I've put tons of weirdos behind bars," Kim responded hotly.

"Yes," Rooke ascended, "but not permanently. How many times have you battled the same foes over and over again? Besides, I do not view characters like Drakken, Shego, Lord Montgomery Fiske, or Duff Killigan particularly threatening. A master of monkey Kung Fu and a rogue golfer? Really?"

"Hey! Don't be doubting the Monkey Kung-Fu!" Ron reprimanded.

"I apologize, Miss Possible," Rooke said, somberly. "I did not mean to belittle your efforts. They are well-intentioned, but not entirely successful."

Kim glared at him. "So are you gonna get to the part where you formed the Syndicate, or what?"

"Kim," her mother whispered, warningly.

Rooke ignored her rudeness and carried on with his story. "Once Derek and John-Paul were old enough, relatively speaking, I decided to ratchet my efforts up a notch. I guess this was the official birth of 'Syndicate'."

"How old were the boys?" Mrs. Stoppable asked.

"Let's see," Rooke hummed, stroking his beard, "this would've been in 1990, so Derek was eighteen and John-Paul was roughly twenty-six, I believe.

"Over the next decade, we took on a few small jobs, and under our new mindset, we appeared to be a lot more influential. Derek, John-Paul and I would go out into the field and deal with the 'problems' head on, Margo would typically remain here and take care of the 'office work', so to speak.

"Once Sutton turned eighteen, he also joined in in our endeavors. It was in 2001 when we started taking outside applicants, for lack of a better phrase.

"Over this time period, Margo and Sutton were the ones who dealt with the online correspondence and hacking. They were able to get the basics down, but neither of them was terribly good at it. Then, in the end of 2000, Margo began to notice strange occurrences within our computer systems: empty mail boxes, changed passwords, viruses that we were originally protected against, etc.

"Eventually, after a couple of months, we were able to trace the hacker to Hell's Kitchen in New York City. Margo and myself were more impressed than upset by the hacker, and we decided that we would go find them, and if they were interested, we would offer them a position.

"I'm sure you can imagine our surprise when we finally located the hacker, and found them to be a small, homeless, thirteen-year-old girl. It turned out that Angela had used various computers from several locations to hack our systems. She would break into homes, use libraries and Internet cafes to access our computers, thereby making her even more difficult to trace. Besides her obvious computer savvy, Margo wanted to bring her back with us so we could give her a home, as well as provide her with some much needed psychological care.

"I don't believe that Angela will mind me in sharing this with you; she's fairly open about it herself. She was born to a drug addicted mother and an absent father. She was put into foster care when she was five, when police found her mother cooking meth in their apartment kitchen, with Angela locked in a closet.

"A year after that, her mother got clean and regained custody of Angela. However, it wasn't long until her mother started indulging in drugs again and got an abusive boyfriend. Once the man started to abuse Angela as well, she left. Not surprisingly, her mother did not report her daughter missing, and Angela spent the next few years living on the streets.

"Luckily, Margo was able to convince Angela to come home with us, and with a lot of care and counseling she became a member of the family as well as the Syndicate's IT handler.

"It was a little over a year after that when Sutton, who was about twenty at the time and visiting London, came to me with news about a remarkable young woman who would make another excellent addition to the group. He told me she was incredibly gifted in the realms of mechanics and science, and that she would be willing to meet with me to discuss a position.

"Initially I was guarded about meeting her, but when Ronan showed up," Rooke said, "I knew that Sutton was right; she would make a valuable asset to our team," He paused, considered something for a moment, and continued, "Now it's very apparent _why _she's the way she is. Why she's very talented with machinery, inventing, and modifying. It also explains her somewhat sporadic character."

"So, she is related to Drakken?" Kim asked. "It's not just a coincidence that they look alike."

"She's his daughter."

Rufus slipped off Ron's shoulder and Ron nearly fell out of his seat.

"Great. Another Lipsky to contend with," Kim muttered.

"That explains her less than charming attitude," Will added blandly.

"So," Ron said, picking himself up, "is that other woman who was with Drakken and Shego her mom?"

"Yes," Rooke answered. "It was not our intention to get Ms. Anderson involved. However, since she was with Drakken and Shego when Derek and John-Paul went to pick them up, they couldn't very well leave her there."

"Why was she there in the first place?" Will asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Rooke responded, "but I think she was there to talk to Drakken about Ronan. Ronan didn't know who her father was until about two days ago."

Rooke didn't say anymore, and it was clear that his story about Syndicate's origins had concluded. Kim shifted uneasily in her seat and cleared her throat.

"So, are we gonna, ya know, _do_ anything about Cutting?"

"In my experience, it is usually more beneficial to make the second move. We will give him a week to strike, and if he doesn't by then, we will go looking for him."

"I want in on the mission," Kim stated firmly.

"Me too," Ron added.

Rooke fixed Kim with a stern stare. "I thought you might say that," he began. "I am not one to say no to extra hands. However, if you insist on working with my team, you will have to work their way."

A sudden light chiming sounded, and Rooke pulled out a small time piece from his pocket and flipped it open.

"Three o' clock," he announced. "If you don't have anymore questions, I invite all of you out to the veranda for tea time."

With that, Rooke got up and the others followed suit, scurrying after him out of the study.

* * *

**A/N: **Obviously, I took some liberties with the Peace Corps and how it operates :-P

On to Chapter 10! But please don't forget to review for nine!


	10. Tea and Apologies

**A/N: **Onward!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own squat. :(

* * *

"So, what do you guys think?" Kim asked Ron and her parents as they exited the study.

"It was an interesting story," Ron answered. Rufus nodded in agreement.

"I don't like the idea about waiting for Cutting to make first move. If he's up to something, why not nip him in the butt?" Kim whispered.

"I know it's out of the ordinary for you Kimmie," her mother responded, "but if Mr. Rooke has dealt with this man before, then it might be a good idea to follow his lead."

"I guess. I still don't like it, though. This whole sitch is just . . . " Kim broke off, unable to think of an appropriate adjective.

"You know, thinking back on it," her dad broke in, "I guess Karen does look a little familiar."

"She another school chum, Mr. Dr. P?" Ron asked.

"No. I don't think so. I just remember a young girl hanging out around campus that looked a lot like her. Right before Drew dropped out."

Kim half listened to her father's recollection, half thought about Rooke's story again. She was suddenly pulled out of her head when, out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of green and black. She glanced into the room they were passing and saw Shego leaning against the room's far wall, staring out the adjacent window.

"You guys keep going," Kim interrupted. "I'll catch up."

Ron looked at her questioningly and then saw Shego, and gave Kim a discrete thumbs-up. Kim gave him a weak smile and headed into the room.

"Hey, Shego?" she said quietly, carefully stepping toward the vixen.

Shego glanced over at Kim approaching and then back out the window.

"What do you want, princess?" Shego purred.

Kim hesitated for a moment, trying to decide how to kick off the apology. She decided to be blunt.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "I'm sorry."

Shego tore her eyes away from the window and stared at the teen, perplexed.

"About what?"

Kim rolled her eyes, not wanting to discuss the matter anymore than she had to.

"You know," she sighed, "I'm sorry I kinda gave you a hard time about Drakken earlier."

Shego knitted her eyebrows together and looked down at her feet. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, Shego, yes you do," Kim moaned. "Ron and I ran into him in the kitchen and he told us."

Shego's head shot up, her eyes widening.

"I mean," Kim stammered, back-tracking, "he didn't tell us anything, just that he, ya know, cares about you; and that because I kinda made fun of you earlier, you put a stop to the whole relationship."

Shego couldn't deny that hearing Kim say that Drakken cared for her, made her heart swell. However, she still couldn't bring herself to admit to Kim that she had upset her. Much less, upset her over Drakken. Eventually, Shego, unable to think of anything to say, furrowed her brow and looked back out the window.

"I shouldn't have made fun of you," Kim said, "I'm sorry."

Shego didn't say anything, or even turn to look at her.

Kim swallowed hard. Desperately wanting to make things right. "Even though you and Drakken never succeeded in taking over the world," a low rumble resounded from Shego's throat, "you two made a good team. I'm actually kinda surprised that you two didn't get together before now," Shego briefly glanced over at Kim. "I mean, you could do a lot worse than Drakken. Motor Ed, for instance," Shego couldn't help but grin a little bit at the suggestion. "I guess what I'm trying to say is," Kim stated with a sigh, "I shouldn't have given you a hard time about Drakken. It's not my place to make any kind of comment – verbal or physical – about your life or your decisions; especially romantic ones – "

"No. It's not." Shego interrupted firmly, looking at Kim.

Kim pursed her lips and her light green eyes grew kind and soft. "I know. Please don't let my actions, or anyone else's, determine whether or not you should be with Drakken." Kim paused, debating whether or to say what she was thinking. She shortly decided it was prudent.

"It's not fair to him," she added. "It's not fair to anyone."

Shego raised an eyebrow at Kim. "You have doubts when you initially started dating the buffoon?"

"His name is Ron," Kim corrected. "And it wasn't so much doubts . . . I mean, I love him," Shego felt her stomach knot at the word, "it's just some people got to me about the relationship at school, and it made me – well – self conscious, I guess. It shouldn't have, because Ron loves me and I him. That's all that should matter."

Shego couldn't think of anything to say, so she resumed staring out the window. Kim glared a bit, feeling her apology was falling on deaf ears. She glanced over Shego's shoulder, to see just what was so fascinating that it kept Shego peering. Outside, Kim could see a view of a round cul-de-sac and a two-story carriage house. The doors of the carriage house were open and Kim could Smithers, Ronan, Drakken, John-Paul, and Angela all standing around the old truck Smithers' had been driving when she had first seen him. The truck's hood was propped open, and the engine had been removed and set next to it. Ronan was sitting back on her haunches, black grease up to her elbows and utterly filthy, attacking the engine with various tools. Drakken was hovering behind her, cautiously watching her work. Smithers, John-Paul, and Angela stood off to the side; Angela wavering her arms around dramatically, telling some kind of story. Ronan said something from over the top of the engine to Angela. The petite girl then made a motion with her hands and pointed to the Manor.

Kim knew that Angela was telling him about how she had told Wade to try and get some dirt on the Syndicate. Next, Drakken said something.

"You know that's his kid, right?" Shego said suddenly.

"Yeah," Kim whispered. She paused and then voiced the thought that had invaded her head when she had first heard the news, "How weird is that?"

"You don't even know."

Finally, Shego moved away from the room and headed for the room's door.

"Where are you going?"

"Aunt Margo came by a little before you did and said tea time was going to start soon, and that I should join," Shego answered, not even bothering to mask her annoyance.

Kim had almost forgotten Rooke's announcement about tea, and followed Shego out of the room.

"Do you know which way the veranda is?" Kim asked as they entered the hall.

"Nope."

The two women walked down the hall, looking from room to room to see if there was a door that led outside.

"This place is huge," Kim muttered after a few minutes of unsuccessfully finding their way.

Eventually, they ran into Ms. Walsh, whom had Hana perched on her hip.

"Looking for the veranda?" she asked, adjusting the toddler. Kim and Shego both nodded. "I'm heading that way now. I'll drop you and little Miss Hana here off, then I'll bring out the tea."

With Ms. Walsh leading the way, they weaved around the manor, finally coming to what appeared to be an indoor green house. Large glass doors stood open at the far end of the room, and Kim and Shego could see the stone patio projecting out from the house.

"Here, I can take her," Kim said to the maid, gently taking Hana from her hip.

"Oh, thank you, dear. Please tell Mr. and Dr. Rooke that the tea will be out momentarily."

Kim and Shego made for the door; brushing past several large leaves and blossoms that Hana tried grabbing when they were in reach. There was a large oval table made from wrought iron set on the smooth stones of the patio. The occupants of the table – Margo, the company that had been in Rooke's study, and Kim's brothers (who looked like they had just gotten up) – were shaded under a large umbrella that was stuck in the center of the table. Upon seeing her mother, Hana squealed and reached for her. Kim rounded the table and handed Hana off, and took the seat next to Ron. Shego purposely sat a seat away from the group – a social faux pas that wasn't lost on Margo, but she didn't say anything.

"How'd it go?" Ron whispered to Kim.

"Okay, I guess," she answered. "I think we'll just have to wait and see if things get fixed."

Not long after Kim had spoken, did Karen come through the green room and out onto the veranda. She was barefoot, cradling a large tortoise shell cat. She had changed from her arrival clothes to a pair of black athletic pants and a plain white shirt.

"Ms. Walsh said it was time for tea?" she asked carefully.

"Yes," Margo answered brightly. "Please have a seat."

Karen hesitated for a moment before she set down the large cat and took the seat next to Shego. Neither woman looked at the other.

"Oh. Ms. Walsh said she'd be out in a second with the tea," Kim told Margo. Really, passing the message along was more of a way to fill the silence than to inform Margo on the status of the tea.

"Thank you, Kim," Margo acknowledged.

"Hey, where's the food?" Derek asked as he and Sutton exited the manor and took seats at the table.

"It'll be out momentarily."

"Good. That nap took a lot outta me," Derek yawned stretching and cracking his neck. A series of winces fluttered around the table at the popping sounds Derek created with his joints.

"I hope you told the others about tea," Rooke entreated.

"We did," Sutton said. "Saw them outside at the carriage house. Ronan's working on Reg's truck. Again."

No sooner had the words left Sutton's mouth, did Drakken, Ronan, Angela, John-Paul, and Reginald round the Manor and come into view.

"Ah! Perfect!" Rooke cried. "You're all just in time!"

The group looked at the table's guests with varying degrees of reservation: Drakken and Shego avoided eye contact, Ronan exchanged a look with her mother while taking an unconscious step away from Drakken, and Angela was glaring daggers at Kim.

"Heavens!"

Ms. Walsh's sudden cry of dismay punctuated the moment inappropriately, but it did pull the festering venom out of the air. She was standing at the open door way, carrying a large tray with a tea kettle and various crumpets and biscuits on it, staring at Ronan, horrified at the girl's messy state. Her once white tank top was ashen and stained with motor oil and grease, her jeans were also splotched and had several new holes in them, and, as before, her arms, neck and face were caked in oil, grease, and grime.

Words were lost on the old woman. She just simply shook her head and thought about how many times she would have to clean those clothes before the stains came out. She crossed to the table and set down the tray, still shaking her head.

"Before you sit down to tea, I ask that you go change before you sit on the chair cushions," Ms. Walsh pleaded to Ronan.

"Don't worry," Ronan drawled, heading for the manor. "I'm wouldn't dream of sitting on your pretty precious cushions in this state."

"Shoes, Ronan!" Ms. Walsh called over her shoulder.

Ronan kicked off her boots before entering the house and disappearing from sight.

"Will you be joining us Ms. Walsh, Mr. Smithers?" Rooke asked the two hands.

Again, Ms. Walsh shook her head slowly. "I'm going to get started on that mess of laundry Ronan's lugging through my pristine corridors." She shuddered at the thought of specks of dirt and grease dripping off of Ronan as she made the way to her bathroom.

"I wish you would just let the girl build you a new truck so that she would stop digging around in grease and oil," Ms. Walsh berated. Reginald's wrinkled mouth pulled into a sneer, as he walked away grumbling.

After Ms. Walsh disappeared back into the Manor, Drakken, John-Paul and Angela took seats around the table. Drakken ended up sitting across from Shego, and the pair exchanged an uneasy glance, but no words. Kim felt an wrenching twist in her gut. She hoped she hadn't permanently messed up the two's relationship.

"Did you get what you need?" Angela crossly asked Kim. John-Paul, who was seated next to Angela, playfully elbowed her in the side; her diminutive size made his own gargantuan structure even more comical.

"Um. Yeah," Kim muttered, taking a crumpet from the plate that Ron had passed to her.

"There's no need to harbor a grudge, Angela," Margo lectured, taking a sip of tea.

"Kim felt she did what she had to do," Rooke added. Angela rolled her eyes.

"Ticking the hosts off, pumpkin?" Shego taunted. "How surprisingly rude of you."

"What'd she do?" Derek asked through a bite of biscuit and jam.

"She had her computer guy try and hack into my systems," Angela said.

"I, for one, admire Kim's initiative. Even if it wasn't the best way to go about getting information," Minka interjected. Will glanced over at his partner, mild disbelief washing over his face.

"I mean," Minka continued, "if I were in her shoes – in a new environment, under somewhat tense circumstances – I would also want to get as much information as I could. Although, I agree with you, Mr. Rooke: we should trust each other. We need to. Secrets are not an option."

* * *

Tea lasted for about an hour. At that time, Ms. Walsh reappeared and began to take away the dirty dishes. After the table had been cleared, people slowly disbanded, some remaining to chat, others leaving. Ronan had never come back down after leaving to go clean up, and Sutton went to go find her.

He was not surprised that she had not come back to join the group for tea, and he was also not surprised to find her holed up in the bathroom they shared, smoking. She was sitting on the edge of the tub, holding her hand out of the bathroom window, so as to not let the cigarette smoke perfume the room too much. She had showered, but had not dressed; all she had on was matching black lacey bra and panties (one of the only feminine things she owned) and a haggard expression on her face.

"You missed tea," he said, sitting on the toilet across from her.

Ronan took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke out of the window.

"Whoops."

Sutton smirked at her apathetic defiance.

"You okay?"

Ronan shrugged. "I think so. Why?"

"It's just seems like its been a draining day for you. You've already gone through a pack of cigarettes today, and it's only four o' clock. Usually, you won't go through a pack a day unless you stressed or nervous."

"We need to stop hanging out so much."

Sutton's smirk bloomed into a full grin. "I just want to make sure that you're okay –"

"I am."

"And that even though it's weird right now, the strangeness of having both of your parents around will eventually go away."

Ronan made a face and ran her long fingers through her damp hair.

"Is there something else bothering you?"

"There's always something bothering me," she answered. "That's the stupid way I work."

"What in particular is it now?" Sutton asked, leaving the toilet seat and coming to sit next to her on the edge of the tub.

Ronan screwed up her face and finally said, "I don't like that GJ agent Minka."

"Not to be confrontational, Ro, but you don't like most people."

"Oh, I know. I don't like Will either, but there's something about Minka that's . . . off. I don't know what it is. She hasn't done anything to warrant suspicion, and she's not particularly annoying. I have no data to support not liking her."

Sutton shrugged a shoulder. "She's a Global Justice pawn. Do you need more of a reason to dislike her?"

Ronan grinned as she crushed the dwindling butt of her cigarette against the porcelain tub.

* * *

After tea, Drakken decided that he finally might be tired enough to try and get some sleep. Unfortunately, as soon as he lay down in the king-sized bed, he noticed that Shego's scent was left lingering in the sheets from when she had taken a nap. Irked, he tried to get comfortable on the old eighteenth century couch on the other side of the room; but he found that the cushions were too starchy and malformed to get into an agreeable position. Eventually, he made peace with the fact that he probably wouldn't be getting any sleep, and just lay on the couch.

He didn't know how long he had been lying down when Shego came into the bedroom. He knew it was she by the way the door opened, and he felt his stomach do a somersault as her scent – a mix of vanilla and flowers – wafted into the room.

"Dr. D?"

Drakken slowly sat up, but didn't turn to look at her. "Yes, Shego?"

There was a pause, and then he heard the soft padding of her feet approach. He felt a shift in the seat cushions as she sat down next to him. He still didn't look at her.

After a moment, she quietly said, "I need to talk to you, D."

Drakken didn't say anything, and she wasn't sure whether or not he and heard her.

"Drakken –"

"I heard you, Shego." Drakken said, coldly. "What do you need to tell me?"

He would've liked to be meaner. He would've liked to yell at her, call her a bitch, tell her to leave him alone. But he couldn't. He was too tired, too hurt to do any of that.

Shego briefly reconsidered what she wanted to tell him. She _hated_ apologizing, and she doubly hated admitting when she had been in the wrong. Although, she knew that if she didn't say she was sorry, she would hate herself even more.

"I'm sorry, Dr. D," she whispered, barely opening her mouth.

For the first time since she entered the room, Drakken turned to look at her. Shego felt a warm flush flourish across her face and she averted her gaze. Her mind raced to figure out something else to say. Her heart was tapping furiously.

"I'm sorry," she said again, this time more audibly. "I shouldn't have said those things earlier."

She swallowed and took the plunge. "I shouldn't have said them at all. I didn't mean it."

Drakken looked at her carefully. He knew Shego did not apologize willy-nilly. She only did it when she knew she needed to; when she knew she had gone over the line. He couldn't deny that when she had said that she didn't mean the things she had said, that his heart gave a little 'thump-thump' of hope and happiness. However, he didn't want to simply roll over like a love-struck teen. He wanted Shego to squirm a little bit. He wanted her to know that her words had consequences, and that, even though she was apologizing, it would take more than that to set things right.

But he couldn't fully fight the feeling of overwhelming glee and happiness building up inside him. In truth, all Drakken wanted to do at that moment was to grab her beautiful face and kiss her. It took a considerable amount of will power, but he managed to resist.

"You didn't?" he asked.

Shego looked back at him and shook her head, her black curls caressing her face. "No. I just . . . went crazy for a second, I guess," she paused for a moment before continuing. "I let Kim get to me, and I shouldn't have. It doesn't matter what she thinks or what anyone thinks. It doesn't matter that some ex-girlfriend or yours is here, or that you have a slightly terrifying, under-fed kid. You didn't do anything to warrant me hurting your feelings. It's not fair to you that I got self-conscious and took it out on you. I shouldn't have done that; I know that now. I'm really sorry, D."

Drakken needed to confirm something, and he couldn't help himself. "Why are you sorry?"

Shego shot him a look and said, "Because I care about you."

The words came out slowly and with a great deal of certainty. Inwardly, she struggled between that and 'I love you'. But she figured that the latter was too big of a step for her. Surely, Drakken would think that she was mocking him if she confessed that. How could she love a big blue oaf like him? But, alas, she did.

Drakken continued to look at Shego, his face strangely void of expression, and Shego slowly felt her heart sink and her irritation rise. Was he not accepting her apology? How dare he! Didn't he know how difficult it was for her to admit she had been in the wrong?

After a few seconds of staring at each other, Shego got fed up and started to get off the couch to leave. Just as she stood up, Drakken's nearest hand shot off his lap and grabbed hers. Surprised, Shego looked down at the doctor. His eyes were looking sternly, yet pleadingly, up at her. She was unable to hold on to the anger as she looked at him, and she sat back down; this a little closer than before. Neither said anything, and nothing beyond hand holding happened. However, the longer they sat there together, a small delicate vine escaped from Drakken's sleeve and entwined itself around his and Shego's clasped hands.

* * *

From what Vrishkov could figure out, the small black box created seismic waves through a planet's crust in localized areas; much like an earthquake. However, the box simply created the waves that caused the destruction. It didn't necessarily need tectonic plates or any tangible item to facilitate the damage.

He also hypothesized that the push of the box's button was proportional to the damage caused. Meaning that if Cutting had pushed the Lorwardian symbol as far as it would go, there would've been a good chance that all of Sardinia would've sunk into the Mediterranean Sea.

After Cutting had inadvertently destroyed his shed, he had sent Vrishkov back down to his cell to work on the weapon – under the supervision of one of his goons. Cutting had gone back up to his study to plot out the next part of his plan.

He sat, leaning back in his large leather chair, his feet propped up on his desk, and his hand cupping his pointed chin. He knew he would need to pick some kind of test site for the device. There were various reasons for this: to make sure that the box had the destructive capacity he would require, to make sure that there were minimal casualties during the first move, and to make sure the test site would gather just enough media attention. He didn't want the test to appear too threatening. Where ever he used first used the box, it would need to appear like an accident or some freak occurrence, not an action of malicious intent.

Cutting was brought out of his head by a sharp knock at his study door.

"Come in," he called, swinging his legs off of his desk. The door opened and J.R. entered.

"I just wanted to make sure there were no other jobs you wanted me to carry out before I head back to the States."

Cutting brought his fingers to his thin lips and pondered the question. When he didn't say anything, J.R. turned to leave.

"I'll be back in a couple weeks, and I'll bring Gerry's money with me."

"Hold on there, J.R." Cutting said, getting up. He rounded his desk and went over to a liquor cart butted up against a bookshelf. "Have a seat."

Slowly, J.R. closed the study door, went over to one of the seats in front of Cutting's desk and sat down. Cutting poured two glasses of malt whiskey and sat down in the chair opposite J.R.'s, handing him one of the tumblers.

"Actually, I do have a job for you," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

J.R. watched his employer carefully. "What's that?"

"Well, as you know, Vrishkov had a stroke of luck on his first day and has found me a weapon that looks like it will serve my needs. However, we won't know this until we give it a little test spin."

"I see," J.R. said, taking the first sip of his whiskey.

"So, instead of going to the States, I want you to take Vrishkov to the test site and see what kind of damage our little box can cause."

"Where is this test site?"

* * *

The next few days at the Manor passed rather comfortably, although there still was a great deal of segregation between groups. Angela was still bitter against Kim. However, as the days past, her aggression seemed to ebb away into mild indifference and then back into her bubbly, friendly self.

Director would check in with Will and Minka at least twice a day. There had been no progress at GJHQ on uncovering who the mole was, and Director appeared as wearied and stressed as Kim had ever seen or heard her. Aside from GJ duties, Will and Minka had taken to challenging Kim and Ron is bouts of chess. There was a large, elegant, marble board with matching pieces in the rumpus room mentioned on their first day. Ron lost every time, no matter whom he was competing with, whereas, Rufus always seemed to win. Often, Kim was matched up with Minka, and she found herself liking the GJ agent more and more. Minka told her about growing up in Santa Fe, New Mexico, about her classes at the GJ Agent Academy, and other random facts about her life. In return, Kim happily told her stories about her various missions, her foes, and the alliances she had made along the way.

Kim carefully observed Drakken and Shego over the following days, to see if the rift she had caused in their relationship had been patched up. While the two weren't committing any public displays of action (something Kim was, admittedly, thankful for), they did appear to be on friendlier terms; at least they had gone back to their usual routine of Shego playfully mocking the doctor.

Truthfully, the rockiness in Drakken and Shego's relationship was beginning to pass. Drakken was still unwilling to fully open himself up to Shego again, more as a punishment for her then an actual feeling. The night Shego apologized, she and Drakken did share the king sized bed. However, Drakken made sure to stay as far on his side as he possibly could without falling off. As the week progressed, though, each night he would slowly creep closer, until – about four days after Shego's apology – he was huddled up against her back, his arm holding her close to his chest. He was extremely happy that Shego didn't seem to have a problem with spooning, and even snuggled her back even deeper into his chest.

Their romantic gestures didn't go beyond spooning, though. There was no hugging, kissing, or sex in the days following Shego's apology. Drakken wasn't prepared to let Shego in like that again (even if his heart wanted it), and Shego wasn't ready to do that if he wasn't.

Over the next few days, Kim couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for Karen. It seemed that every time Kim ran into her in the manor, she was alone. Kim didn't understand the tenseness that clouded her relationship with her daughter, but Kim couldn't help but feel a little annoyed at Ronan for ignoring her mother so.

Kim barely saw Ronan, as it was. She had no idea where the gangly girl went to during the day, but she didn't seem to care to get to know any of the guests. The only time Kim was guaranteed a sight of her was at suppertime. Even then, she was unpleasantly quiet, only speaking with other members of the Syndicate.

Kim was actually still a little surprised that Drakken had gotten far enough with a woman to actually create a child. She had not worked up the guts to ask Drakken or Karen about their relationship because, really, it wasn't her place. She had thought briefly about asking Shego to see if she knew anything, but then thought better of the idea; she had caused enough trouble for Shego as it was.

As a week at the manor was drawing to a close, Kim couldn't help but remember what Rooke had said on their first day:

"We will give him a week to strike, and if he doesn't by then, we will go looking for him."

They hadn't heard anything. As far as Kim knew, the world was safe. For now. She was beginning to grow restless, wanting to take some kind of action. Simply waiting on the edge for something to happen made her insides writhe uncomfortably.

On the sixth morning, Kim got up at 6:30 AM. She didn't know why her body had awoken so early, but she was wide-awake and alert. She swung her legs over the side of her bed and slid her feet into a pair of slippers she had found in her room's closet.

She quietly opened her bedroom door and padded down the hallway to the main staircase. After about three days, Kim started to get a handle on the Manor's maze of corridors and rooms, and now it didn't seem so big and imposing.

Once she got to the stairs, Kim was struck by how overly lit the downstairs seemed to be. It wasn't odd for Ms. Walsh or Dr. Rooke to be up by now, but it wasn't like either of them to unnecessarily turn and leave lights on. Kim swiftly plodded down the stairs and turned down the hall that led to the kitchen. She was hungry, and was going to see if Ms. Walsh couldn't whip her up a small something before the actual breakfast.

However, when Kim entered the kitchen, it was empty. The smell of percolating coffee and cooking food was even absent. Puzzled, Kim walked through the kitchen and into the dining room. Empty. Kim stopped, utterly confused.

Slowly, she became aware of soft voices coming from down the hall. Kim started walking again, following the sounds to the parlor. As she rounded the parlor doors, she saw the entire Syndicate, plus Will and Minka, standing around the room. Rooke and Margo were standing beside the fireplace mantel, just as they had on Kim's first day there. All of them wore an expression somewhere between grave and focused.

"What's going on?" Kim asked, anxiously.

Rooke fixed her with his grey eyes and said, "Cutting has made his first move."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you very much for reading! Please leave a review on the way out. I should get around to starting chapter 11 later this week. Hopefully I won't take so long to update next time. We shall see though; finals are coming up for me, unfortunately. Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys are liking this story so far. There is still some exposition to go, but next chapter there will be some action. Explosions, fights, lasers and the like (OH! A Rhyme!). Please leave a review! :DDD


	11. Chernobyl

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry for the delayed update. For the last few weeks, I've had finals, vacation and summer class to write around. That, and this chapter ended up being especially long, and I could not justify breaking into two separate sections like I did for chapters 9 and 10. So hunker down and prepare yourself for about thirty pages of chapter O_O

I also tried to do as much research as I could concerning the Chernobyl Nuclear disaster and the city of Pripyat. So if there are any Ukrainians out there, or nuclear history buffs, please forgive any mistakes I may have made. Also, I used babylon translator for the Ukrainian and Russian dialogue bits, so I hope those are accurate as well.

Please remember that this story is rated M, and while I don't think I've written anything especially mature as of yet, there is a D/S sexy scene at the start of this chapter that is mildly descriptive. So, if that's not your thing, skip ahead.

Again, I just want to thank all the readers! And a special thanks to those of you who review this story and have added it to your alerts! :)

Please Read and Review!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Kim Possible affiliated characters, Belarus, the Ukraine, or any other familiar person/place/thing in this story. I do own the Syndicate.

* * *

On April 26th, 1986, Reactor Four of the Chernoybl Nuclear Power Plant in the Ukraine SSR exploded and caught fire during a systems test.

The fire lasted for about five hours before it was finally localized and extinguished. However, by then, significant and irreparable damage had been caused. The fire and smoke spewing from the crumbled reactor contained extremely high, extremely deadly levels of radiation; and within the next few weeks hundreds of thousands of people who lived in the surrounding areas of the Plant suffered from varying degrees of poisoning.

By April 27th, the citizens of the Plant's surrounding city of Pripyat were ordered to evacuate. The removal the government order was hasty, so many families left their homes with several of their belongings still inside of them. Over sixty percent of the population of Pripyat relocated to the nearby country of Belarus, never returning to their former home.

Eventually, the Plant itself and Pripyat were considered 'lost' and were formed into an Exclusion Zone. This Zone, initially, was approximately nineteen miles in diameter, although it has slowly expanded over the years. All nuclear power production was stopped in 2000, and the final Reactor Three was shut down.

The only occupants of the Zone now are government-mandated employees who 'live' there in shifts, and the occasional squatter who takes advantage of the vacated living blocks.

* * *

Drakken had been up for at least half an hour, although he couldn't be sure. The room was dark and he couldn't see the clock on the bed's end table. Despite the fact that over the last several days he hadn't needed to get up early, his body couldn't seem to shake the persistent internal alarm that got him up at the crack of dawn.

And so, he found himself in much the same predicament he had found himself in the morning after the ceremony; however, both he and Shego were dressed, and instead of her sprawled across the top of him, her back was wedged against his front and his arm was wrapped around her. Just like on that morning, he refrained from moving too much so as to not wake her.

He lay next to her, his face nearly buried in her mass of hair, listening and feeling her breath; his arm that was looped just above her waist lazily moved up and down in time with her breathing. As he took his own breath, his nostrils were filled with the subtle floral-vanilla scent of her hair. The smell made his mind fuzzy with ecstasy.

As pleased as he was with the fact that he and Shego seemed to have finally succumbed to the building sexual and romantic tension between them, he was still baffled that someone like her would ever want to be with someone like him. Even though he was still peeved with Kim Possible for pointing this out to Shego, a small part of him could 'see' her point. He was a middle-aged man who had failed at his life's ambition. He wasn't particularly good-looking, and he couldn't deny that he hadn't always treated Shego well in the past. Despite that, he had always liked, cared, and been infatuated with his partner. Being the way that he was – malicious and awkward – he had not been very successful in conveying how much he actually appreciated her. Not just her fighting skills and espionage-capabilities, but _her. _As far as he was concerned, what had transpired between in the last week was nothing short of a miracle.

The past few days had been void of the same level of affection that had ensued between them the night of the awards ceremony. This was mainly Drakken's doing. He was still 'punishing' Shego for being so shallow and needlessly insecure at the hand of Kim Possible. Even though he cared for her infinitely, he still derived pleasure from irritating her, as she did him.

However, as he lay beside her, feeling her body beneath his arm and smelling her scent, he was tired of the moratorium he had placed on romantic gestures. He hoped she was too. He had no intention of waking her to let her know of his decision, since he knew waking her would probably result in her cutting off any form of affection. He would tell her later, once she was up.

She shifted slightly under his arm, and a section of ebony hair split, cascading over either side of her shoulder, revealing the firm muscle of her deltoid. Before Drakken realized what he was doing, or before he could stop himself, he leaned his head forward and lightly kissed the apex of Shego's shoulder.

He stiffened as she tensed beneath him, and glanced over her shoulder to look at him with groggy green eyes.

'_Oh snap.'_

"Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't?"

Drakken's voice caught in his throat, unable to think of what to say or how to explain himself. Thankfully, a small, tired grin spread across Shego's face and she rolled over to face him.

"Does this mean you're not pouting anymore?"

Drakken frowned. "I haven't been pouting."

"Really?" Shego asked snidely. "You're not still mad that I crushed your poor little ol' feelings earlier this week?"

Shego still felt guilty about what she had said to Drakken when they first arrived at the manor, and her apology had been sincere; however, she wasn't able to completely squelch her habit of poking fun at Drakken for being sensitive, even when he had been completely in the right to be so. Mocking him protected her from feeling too remorseful from how she had acted towards him. Deep down, she couldn't stand that she had said what she had did, and that she had hurt him so badly. But she would be damned if she completely owned up to that again.

Drakken scowled and went to roll away from her. Maybe the moratorium shouldn't be lifted quite yet.

Just as he went to remove his arm from around her waist, Shego caught his elbow and whispered, "Sorry. Again."

The wily glint in her eyes had vanished and was replaced with an uncharacteristic plead.

Drakken's face softened and he rolled back to face her. He leaned his head into the soft pillow, watching her carefully. She was callous, tactless, and irritating to boot. And he loved it.

He tightened the hold his arms had on her and pulled her towards him. The motion was met with surprised resistance, which quickly melted away as his lips captured hers. Shego wrapped her arms around and under his body and drew herself closer to him, humming slightly. It was strange how much she had missed this even though they had only kissed a few times before.

She opened her mouth, gently gliding her tongue against his lower lip. Drakken welcomed her advances, opening his mouth, and meeting her tongue with his. The French kiss steadily grew more and more ravenous, and one of Drakken's vines emerged from under his shirt, drifted down to the curve between the bottom of Shego's butt and the top of the back of her thigh, and lifted her leg up so it would lock and secure itself around his waist.

Shego made a soft, pleased purring sound in the back of her throat, and her hands roamed from his back and neck down to the waistband of his pajama pants. She sunk her fingers between the band and his skin, and ran her fingertips along the delightfully defined area between Drakken's crotch and thigh. He started a bit at the touch, gasping into her mouth. Drakken quickly regained himself and rolled Shego onto to her back, himself on top of her.

The new position allowed Shego to wrap her other leg around Drakken, and used both appendages to force his hips down against hers. The brief grind caused Drakken to let out another whimper of surprised pleasure, and made Shego shudder for a split second, as his increasingly hardening member bumped against some delicate areas.

Their breathing was starting to become ragged with anticipation of what was clearly coming. Drakken's hand meandered its way under and up the tank top Shego had slept in and grabbed her breast, using his thumb to stimulate her already taut nipple. Shego momentarily broke the kiss to take a small breath in, grinned, and then began to devour his mouth again. It wasn't the best foreplay she had ever had (so far) but she was mildly surprised at how well he was doing.

Shego's hands, which had moved back to Drakken's neck and shoulders in the wake of their position change, once again dove back down into his pants. She took a firm hold of his rigid shaft and he broke the kiss, burying his face into her neck, letting out a gasp and a moan as she used the pad of her thumb to massage the sensitive skin. The odd warmth and energy that radiated from her bare hands was the strangest and the second-most satisfying thing he had ever felt down there, and he was concerned he might cum right then and there.

Beginning to regain himself, Drakken started a trail of light kisses that began at the base of Shego's neck and ended at her mouth. He kissed her lips once, softly, and then wrapped them in the most passionate kiss he could muster. He didn't want it to be feverish and sexually hungry like the ones earlier; he wanted it to be special. He wanted Shego to know that everything that had happened between them thus far and what was about to happen was irreplaceably exceptional and beautiful to him. He wanted her to know that this was more than just sexual frustration and desperation between them. This was the real thing. He was ready to be with her for as long as she would have him. He wanted to tell her all this without actually saying it.

The sudden change in the mood of Drakken's kisses took Shego off guard. Her heart stopped for a split second, as his actions grew into something more profound and determined than before. As her heart started up again, she took her hands from his crotch and grabbed the back of his neck and the side of his face, encouraging the depth of the kiss. The fingers of her left hand found their way into his hair, and began wrapping the strands around each digit.

Slowly, the two broke the kiss and looked at one another. Shego was left speechless, which amazed her. Drakken's expression was uncharacteristically unreadable as he waited for . . . something. Shego slowly traced her fingertips down his jaw line, watching his dark blue eyes carefully. Maybe she should tell him . . .

"D," she began in a little voice. Drakken tilted his head towards hers, waiting for whatever she was about to say. She took in a deep breath, reigning in the inexplicable warmth and happiness that was beginning to well up inside her.

_Knock knock_

It was amazing how two short knocks at the bedroom door could suck all the romanticism and gravitas out of the moment.

"Drakken? Shego?" came a muffled voice from outside the door. Kim Possible.

"I'm gonna kill her," Shego growled.

Drakken groaned, tilting his face into Shego's hair. He was also thoroughly annoyed with Possible's terrible timing. What one earth could she want at this hour anyway?

There were a few more raps at the door, this time faster and more urgent. Shego growled and shoved Drakken off of her. She leapt out of the bed and stormed over to the double doors.

"What?" Shego snarled as she flung the door open. Kim and Ron, who was standing right behind her, jumped back slightly at the rage pouring from the room.

"Uh," Kim stuttered, trying to regain herself, "We have a problem."

"It better be a _big _problem since you're interrupting a . . . very important conversation," Shego spat, her tone thick with innuendo. She was over feeling insecure and timid about her budding relationship with Drakken, and she knew that flaunting it in such a way would make Kimmie and her buffoon uncomfortable.

Behind Kim, Ron visibly shuddered.

Kim's face pulled into a fleeting, involuntary grimace before shifting back into stern urgency. "Cutting's made his first move. Are you gonna come help, or are you just gonna stand there?"

* * *

The shell that once was the Chernobyl Power Plant and the surrounding city of Pripyat was gone, vanished into a large unexplainable crater. Apparently the incident had occurred in the early hours of the morning, and no one was sure what or who had caused the quake. What baffled scientists even further was the extreme localization of the tectonic shift; traditional earthquakes did not show such precision or symmetry. The destruction it had caused had just taken out the Plant and the Exclusion Zone; nothing else.

After hurriedly changing, Drakken and Shego joined the two teens out in the hall. They both had found non-descript black pants and quarter-length sleeve shirts in the large armoire that sat against one of the bedroom walls. Upon seeing each other, both Kim and Shego were mildly annoyed to see that the other was wearing a very similar ensemble.

The four made their way down the hall and to the main stairs, before descending into the foyer. Both the Possible and Stoppable parents were waiting for their eldest children at the bottom. After Rooke had informed Kim of Cutting's first move, she ran back upstairs to wake Ron and her parents. Both families saw no point in waking Jim, Tim, or Hana; they would tell them what was happening when the children got up.

Karen was down in the front room as well, once again cradling the Manor's large cat. Turtle twisted himself in her arms, so that his head hung upside down over her elbow, watching Kim, Ron, Drakken, and Shego scurry down the steps. Kim vaguely wondered if Ronan had been polite or caring enough to inform her mother of the Syndicate's current state of preparation.

"What's going on?" she asked, mainly to Drakken.

"What is going on, Kimmie?" her mother repeated, worriedly.

"Cutting has somehow taken out the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant and the city surrounding it; about a twenty mile radius around the actual Plant," Margo explained as she clicked into the foyer. Even in the midst of impending crisis, she was impeccably dressed and quaffed. "If you and Ronald are intent on joining the rest of the crew, I suggest you follow me. Good of you to join us Saoirse, Drakken," she finished, nodding at both of them.

"No problem," Shego responded, her voice drenched with sass and belligerence.

Margo raised a pristine eyebrow at her niece before spinning on a thin heel and strutting back down the hall from where she had come from.

"Do you ever turn that charm off?" Kim asked in a low voice as she followed Margo down the corridor.

Shego gave a small snort of insolence before tailing behind Kim. Margo led the group to the tapestry, which most had noticed, but only Drakken and Karen were aware of what it hid. At the moment, the woven piece was pulled and hooked aside, revealing the smooth stainless steel door. Margo punched in the numerical combination into the keypad and the door slid open. Without even glancing behind her, she descended down the stairs the door had opened onto. Drakken and Karen followed her down without hesitation, shortly followed by Shego – who, Kim noticed, clenched her fists a bit before heading down the stairs. Kim exchanged a quick glance with Ron and their parents before they too followed the first four.

Even though Kim was trying to get her head in the game, she was still surprised at the stark décor contrasts of this subterranean floor versus the rooms above. Where the Manor was comfortably stuck in the late nineteenth century, this basement was stark and abrasively modern. Kim and her group caught up with Margo, they descended yet another flight of handless stairs, delving even deeper into Syndicate's belly.

Once they had stepped onto the bottom landing, Margo wordlessly led them into a large rectangular room with a vaulted ceiling. There, they finally stumbled upon the rest of the Syndicate members, along with Will and Minka. The two GJ agents stood diffidently off to the side and the Syndicate members went about preparing for the departure.

Kim made a b-line for the two and said: "What's happening?"

Will didn't answer or even look at Kim, preferring to keep his sneering stare upon Rooke who was leaning over Angela's shoulder looking at the computer screen in front of them.

"Angela and Rooke are making some meeting and spacing arrangements for when we get there, I believe," Minka answered in a low tone. "Not surprisingly, Rooke knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who is apparently going to set us up with some kind of make-shift office space where we can regroup if need be."

"We've already informed Dr. Director," Will slid in, not taking his eyes away from Rooke and Angela. "She's going to meet us there."

Kim noticed that neither Derek nor Ronan were present. Sutton had gone over to speak with Margo and J.P. was standing just a few feet away, wrapping his large hands in some type of black tape or ribbon.

He noticed Kim watching him, and explained, "Keeps my hands nice and pretty."

There was suddenly a loud rattling sound emenating from a much smaller doorway to the left of the larger one the group had entered. A few seconds later, Ronan and Derek appeared, rolling a large gridded-metal case between them. Upon seeing her, Turtle leapt from Karen's arms and trotted over to Ronan, elegantly weaving himself inbetween her legs as she continued to push the case into the room.

"Good morning Lovlies," Derek said, as he brought the case to a halt.

He stepped to the side as Ronan started flipping over the latches that held the case closed. Turtle had managed to clamber onto her shoulders and was balancing there carefully as she made her way around the case. Once the last latch was flipped, she pushed the case open. One side was lined with black vests and what looked like small head sets along with thin ultility belts. The other side had three rifles, larger belts full on ammunition, and a few other smaller weapons: pistols and knives and the like. Kim involuntarily swallowed.

Ronan and Derek each took a vest from the latter side of the case and slipped them over their heads; Turtle jumped down from Ronan's shoulders so he wouldn't be flattened by the piece.

"Aw, you all match! That's so friggin' cute!" Angela exclaimed, approaching the newcomers, her arms roped with four vests.

Kim pulled her eyes away from watching Ronan and Derek load their waists and shoulders with weapons and ammunition. Angela was of course referring to the fact that she, Ron, Drakken and Shego looked like they were on some match-y double date. She did not seem at all perturbed that Shego was staring daggers at her with her fists balled at her side.

"Here," Angela said, thrusting a vest into each of their arms, "you're gonna need these. Probably."

"Geez they're heavy!" Ron exclaimed, hefting the vest in his hands. "What are they?"

Angela blinked. "Bullet proof vests. They're a little heavier than normal because instead of ceramic there are special lead-titanium alloy plates in the pockets."

"Are those going to be necessary?" Mrs. Dr. Possible wavered. She gripped her husband's sleeve, and he placed an assuring hand on hers.

"They are purely precautionary," Rooke explained, stepping away from the computer. "Besides, the lead will be helpful in protecting against whatever remnants of radiation are still at the site."

"Come here, dear," Margo muttered, stepping towards her husband and began to adjust and tweak the vest he had put on.

As everyone was fixated on Rooke's brief description of the task at hand, no one saw Karen step over to the opened case. She reached for one of the last vests hanging in the doorway, when Ronan's hand suddenly clenched itself around her wrist. Karen locked eyes with her daughter. Ronan was glaring at her sternly, but Karen couldn't help but notice something flicker behind the angry amber.

"No." Ronan whispered firmly.

Karen reluctantly put her hand down and eyed the sleek assault rifle slung at her side and the clips of magazines tucked in her belt. Ronan saw this and inwardly groaned.

'_Overbearing, overprotective . . . '_

She tucked her lips between her teeth and then whispered, "It'll be fine. Cutting's guys have probably all moved out by now. There shouldn't be any trouble."

It was a lie and she knew it, but there was no reason for her mother to know that.

Karen's eyes were still locked on the nose of the weapon, which was swaying lazily against Ronan's thigh. "I though you said you never ki – "

"Mom, I'm not gonna stand here and reenact 'True Lies' with you. We gotta go!" Ronan cried over to the group. She bent down and picked up Turtle who was rubbing himself against her boots, and handed him to Karen. "We should be back sometime today. Rooke will be in contact with Margo, so if you have any questions just ask her."

Without waiting for the others to follow, Ronan began stalking towards the back of the room. Sutton trotted over quickly joined her at her side. It was then Karen noticed that the back wall of the room was actually a pair of floor-to-ceiling doors. As the couple approached, the massive doors slowly opened, revealing a darkened corridor that swallowed them up. Karen gripped Turtle a little tighter, and she could feel him purr under her arms. She felt someone step behind her. She turned and saw Drew there, also watching Ronan and Sutton's backs. He glanced down at her and the large cat.

"Watch her," Karen whispered so hoarsely that it was barely audible.

Drakken paused before nodding slightly, and then continued to follow Rooke, Derek, and J.P. towards the corridor; Shego followed him closely. Just Kim, Ron, and the two GJ agents were left.

"Well," Will sighed, annoyed, "we better get going." And he trudged after the Syndicate.

Minka shot a glance over to Kim and Ron, who appeared stuck to the floor, and gave them a warm, reassuring smile before following her partner. Kim gritted her teeth, took Ron by the hand, and marched after them.

"So, how exactly are we getting there?" Shego asked, as the group made their way down the dimly light hall.

"We're flying," Rooke said.

"A-No duh," Shego retorted. "But with what? I don't think any of the crappy little bi-planes you have in that off-property hanger are gonna get us there."

"You're right," Rooke stated calmly, ignoring her rudeness. "That's why we're taking this."

Just as he finished his sentence, there was a flood of florescent white light and the room they had just entered lit up. The room was a large circle with an impressive, sleek-looking jet sitting in the center. It was unlike any jet the non-Syndicate members had ever seen: large, but not big enough to be a hinderance in flight, and seemingly perfectly aerodynamic – not a rivet in sight. It looked like the kind of aircraft that any country would love to have in their airforce. Even Will Du – who hadn't been able to push past his sour mood all week – had to stop and gawk at it.

"W-where did you get that? What is it?" he sputtered.

"Didn't get it anywhere," Ronan said without looking at him. "I built it."

Shego heard Drakken make a small squeak next to her, which pulled her out of her own awed state. She was Drakken's kid all right. It was even clear in the looks of the jet; Shego noticed several little nuances in the curvature of the jet's aesthetic design that resembled the shapes and lines Drakken liked to use in his own original devices.

The Syndicate members, who were used to the impressive vehicle, continued to stride towards it. After a moment, the stragglers followed. As they approached the jet, a staircase was silently lowered from its belly.

The interior of the jet was more similar to that of a military plane, in that there were no rows of seats. Instead the two opposing jet walls were lined with singular seats that faced each other. At the very back of the cabin there was what looked like a small desk jutting out of the wall. Once on board, Angela trotted over and twirled into the desk's seat. She pulled on the same pair of fingerless gloves Kim had seen earlier in the week, and a large bank of opaque floating screens appeared in front of her. Ronan and Sutton made their way to the front of the jet and took the pilot and co-pilot seats. Everyone else was left to seat themselves.

"Margo's sending in the coordinates," Angela said from the back of the plane. She had affixed and odd ear piece with small microphone that lay along the apple of her cheek to her head; Ronan and Sutton were wearing similar equipment.

Ronan's long fingers hovered above a small keypad and screen, waiting for the numbers.

"51.262°, 30.236°."

"What kind of standard error within that frame should we land?" Ronan asked over her shoulder.

"I have a friend a few degrees North. Just beyond the Ukraine-Belarus border. We'll land there and then take a convoy," Rooke answered.

Ronan did a quick mental calculation in her head and then typed the new coordinates into the jet's computer system.

"How long are we looking at in terms of arrival time?" Minka asked, as she pulled the seat belt over her head and buckled it in between her legs.

"What's it to you?" Ronan responded, fiddling with the console and throttle in front of her.

Minka knit her eyebrows together. "So I can relay our arrival time with Dr. Director."

Ronan glanced over her shoulder. "About five and a half hours. Angie's already taken the liberty of informing your fearless leader of that. She's also been in contact with your computer guy, too," she said to Kim.

Kim had almost forgotten about Wade. She hadn't really been in contact with him all week. A wave a guilt washed through her stomach. Hopefully he had been taking the 'no news is good news' manner of thinking.

"Five and a half hours?" Ron groaned. Rufus squeaked his own manner of displeasure and slunk back into Ron's pants pocket.

"Hey. Don't piss and moan about it," Ronan scolded. "Travelling there commercially, it would take over a day." She pulled out a cigarette from somewhere near her seat, stuck it between her lips and lit it.

"I thought you weren't supposed to smoke on planes," Ron voiced again.

"It's my plane, I'll do what I want."

Suddenly, there was a great shift under the jet and the passenger's briefly felt their stomach's lurch down; the jet was slowly being lifted up on its platform.

"Take off will be commencing in sixty seconds," sounded a computerized female voice.

"I suppose it's too much to ask if your plane came equipped with peanuts," Ron sheepishly asked. Kim tapped his foot with her own as everyone in the jet looked at him.

"Take off will be commencing in forty seconds."

Kim could tell Ron was starting to get nervous. He tended to ask silly questions when he did.

"How about a friendly run down of plane safety procedures?"

"You want safety procedures?" Ronan asked without looking at him. Kim could hear the terrible smile in her voice.

"Take off will be commencing in thirty seconds."

"In case of an emergency: Make peace with your God. Thank you flying Ronan Airlines."

Shego felt her lips involuntarily curl into a brief, pleased sneer. That was actually pretty funny. Ron's face paled a bit and he leaned back in his seat. Kim grabbed his hand, squeezed it reassuringly, and pecked him on the cheek.

"Take off commencing in ten seconds."

The jet had now been lifted above ground, onto some portion of Rooke's property. It was 7:30 in the morning, and it was gray and hazy outside.

"Take off sequence commencing."

Everyone's stomach's reeled again as the jet suddenly ascended into the air, straight up from the platform. Once up to an appropriate altitude, Ronan twisted the throttle and the jet veered East sharply. Everyone – who were, thankfully, belted into their seats – was forced over to one side, leaning into their partner. Ronan continued to tilt the throttle until the jet eventually did a smooth barrel roll. As soon as the jet was right side up again, she reached to the panel above her head, pressed a few buttons, and then pulled a sleek lever out of the console between her and Sutton, twisted it, and slammed it back into its slot. The jet shot forward inexplicably fast. It was incredibly disorienting for those who were not used to travelling by it. Kim felt as though she had left her skeleton, brain and other organ systems back several miles from where the jet had leapt forward.

Once up to the needed cruising speed, the atomosphere and forces in the cabin began to fall back into a more comfortable levels, and the passengers' shakey knees slowly stopped bobbing up and down. Even Shego was mildly disoriented by the jet's abrupt method of travel, and it took her a moment to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. Kim took a deep breath through her nose and lessened the grip she had on the shoulder straps of her seat belt. Ron moaned quietly at her side, and she glanced over. He was turning an unpleasant shade of green. He closed his eyes and laid his head on Kim's shoulder.

Shego watched this, and then looked over to Drakken.

"You okay?"

He was staring straight ahead, at a point above the other seats, with an expression of great determination. She could see that there were slight green undertones to his skin now.

"Trying to focus on . . . not being sick," he stiltedly whispered.

Shego scoffed, rolled her eyes, and settled back in her seat, intent on trying to get some sleep before they got to their destination.

* * *

As promised, about five and a half hours later, the jet landed in a large field. Ronan lowered the stairway and everyone began to slowly get up from their seats. Minka, who had been fiddling with a small communicator device, shoved it back in her pocket and stood next to Kim and Ron. Both Drakken and Shego had fallen asleep during the flight and were dead to the world, their heads propped against one another. Seeing this, Rooke went over and gently shook Shego's shoulder, waking both her and Drakken.

"We're here," he said warmly, and headed for the stairs. Ronan, who had gotten out of her seat and lifted the assault rifle back onto her shoulders, briefly stared at her father and Shego, and then followed Rooke.

As the rest of the company exited the plane, they could see Rooke greeting a stranger with a large smile and an extended hand.

"Іван! Як ви? Дякую так сильно за те, що організовувати це на такому короткому повідомленні."

The gentleman took hold of Rooke's hand and shook it firmly.

"Це є гарне побачити вас також, Stephen. Це ні неспокій зовсім, я не запевняю вас. Я будь що для вас та вашого Синдикату," the man responded. He looked over Rooke's shoulder and said, "Гарний побачити вас знов Derek, Sutton, та Джон-Павло."

Derek, Sutton and John-Paul nodded and waved at the man responded in a flurry of Ukrainian greetings.

Ivan turned his attention back to Rooke and said, "Прибутий. Є не багато часу. van є готовий для вас."

With that, he turned and headed back for a large stone cottage that wasn't too far off in the distance. Stepping carefully through the tall grass, the group followed him. They walked around the old stone building, following a dirt road that had replaced the meadow. A truck with a large freight rig attached sat in front of the cottage. Behind the wheel there was another man; much more surly and unpleasant looking than the one that had greeted them. He was dressed in Russian army fatigues.

Ivan rounded the trailer and wrenched the doors open. Inside there was a large table bolted into the carrier's floor and there were small 2x2x2 wooden crates scattered and stacked around. Rooke stepped aside, allowing Will, Minka, Kim and Ron to enter the trailer first.

"Do you think these guys Rooke's having help us are on the up-and-up?" Ron whispered.

Before Kim could answer, Minka replied, "I hope so."

Ronan, Derek and Sutton climbed into the trailer next. Both Ronan and Derek made for crates that were pushed against the walls of the truck, opposite to each other. They sat and unslung the rifles from their shoulders. Derek laid his across his lap, and Ronan leaned hers against her shoulder. Sutton took up the crate just behind her, so their backs were leaning against one another's.

Kim, Ron, Will and Minka were suddenly shuffled forward as Angela, John-Paul, Drakken and Shego clambered into the trailer. There were a few awkward seconds of bumping into and stepping around each other as they all tried to secure their own space.

After a few minutes of speaking with Ivan, Rooke was the last to climb into the truck and the doors were closed. They could hear the engine rumble to life and the truck jerked forward as it slowly rolled away from the cottage. Both Ronan and Derek slid open small pieces of metal that were at about eye level, and kept a careful watch on the passing landscape.

"We will reach the exclusion zone – what's left of it – in about an hour and a half," Rooke said, spreading a large piece of paper across the table. Kim, Drakken and Will leaned over the table to see. It was a map of the city of Pripyat.

"According to Ivan, a good deal of Russian military are already at the scene. So with Igor as our driver, we shouldn't have a problem getting into the site," Rooke began. He planted an index finger at one corner of the map, "We will enter near north-western blocks. Those, apparently, are still in relatively good condition. We should be able to get very close to the actual plant."

"What do we do once were there?" Kim asked.

"See if we can't figure out how Cutting did what he did," Rooke explained. "If we can find some evidence of their weapon, that will be even better."

"What if we run into any of Cutting's men?" Will asked, a slight edge to his voice. Minka glanced at him, then to Rooke.

"Well, in a way, it would be helpful," Rooke sighed. Kim squinted at him. "Capturing one would give us an edge. We may be able to persuade them to divulge some information."

"And if we run into more than one?"

"We won't need more than one," he answered. "Rabbits multiply quick enough anyway."

Kim felt her stomach knot slightly.

Rooke shifted his weight and continued, "When we get there, we are going to split up into groups. Kim, Ron, Drakken and Saoirse, you all will be paired separately with one member of the Syndicate."

"What? Why?" Kim asked. She didn't like the idea of being separated from Ron.

"Only you four are familiar with the Lorwardian technology. You will be the one's able to spot the weapon if it is there.

"Dr. Drakken you will be with John-Paul." Drakken looked up to the giant at his side, and J.P. flashed him a grin. "Saoirse, you and Derek." Shego, who had taken up a crate a foot or two from Ronan, looked across the truck at Derek and sneered; she was still pissed about him drugging her. "Ron, you will be with Sutton. Kim, with Ronan."

Kim glanced behind her, to where Ronan was seated. Her strange amber-yellow eyes locked with Kim's green ones. Again, Kim felt her stomach churn. Despite her and Ronan being on the same side, she wasn't sure if she trusted her, entirely.

"And just what are we supposed to do?" Will asked hotly.

"I figured you and Agent Carlisle would rather wait until Dr. Director arrived," Rooke answered smoothly.

Will pursed his lips together, turned from the table and sat down on a nearby crate.

"Angela and I will stay near the truck, keeping an eye of all of you. You will notice that each of your vests have a small light affixed to the left collar," he fingered his own, "this is a tracking device. Before you all go traipsing through the plant, you'll turn them on."

The instructional portion of Rooke's speech was over, and the rest of them who had not taken seats, scurried around the trailer trying to find a place to sit. Kim and Ron set very close to one another, Rufus perching in the crevasse between their legs. Drakken had travelled over to the nearest crate by Shego and sat down on it, resting his head against the wall of the truck; he quickly fell asleep again. Shego rolled her eyes and softly shook her head at the light sound of his snoring.

"So," came a low voice next to her. Shego looked over to see Ronan eying her, "you two get . . . _that _all figured out?"

She waved her hand vaguely in Shego's direction, her long fingers dancing in the air. Shego understood the allusion, though. She was referring to her and the doctor's budding romantic relationship.

"Yeah," Shego curtly answered, not looking at her.

A brief silence hung between them, and then Ronan voiced another question.

"How long have you worked for him?"

Shego's jaw tightened slightly. She couldn't quite pinpoint the origin of her uneasiness, but she felt apprehensive about speaking with the girl.

"For about five years."

Ronan tilted her head in an understanding fashion, and looked out of her little window slot.

"How long have your been doing this?" Shego quiered.

"About four years. Almost five."

There was a pregnant pause before Shego asked a question that had been nagging at the back of her mind since she had spoken with Karen on the plane six days ago. "Would you still have looked for him even if Cutting wasn't after us?"

The thought had been buzzing in Shego's bonnet for the past several days. Despite the romantic facet of their relationship being new, she couldn't help but wonder how it would've been different if Karen and Ronan hadn't made their presences known. Shego imagined that it would've gotten off to a much smoother start. She and Drakken probably would've returned to the Caribbean lair, and in the absence of henchmen would've started deciding what to do next and, maybe, enjoyed some private time together away from the rest of the world.

Ronan didn't answer. She merely flicked a look at Shego and then resumed gazing through the open slot. Shego felt a tingle of annoyance dance at her fingertips. She found that being ignored was much more irksome than being constantly bothered.

"You have family," Ronan said suddenly. She tore her gaze from the outside and placed it back on Shego. "Parents and four brothers. And an aunt."

Shego watched her carefully, not entirely sure where she was going with this. She assumed that Margo had told Ronan about her brothers and parents; how else would she know? She didn't even think Kimmie knew that her mother and father were still around.

"You know what its like to be a disappointment," Ronan continued, softly. "To turn out not as planned."

Normally, Shego would've socked her in the mouth. However, the way Ronan was speaking was not hateful or sinister. She spoke matter-of-factly, and Shego knew that Ronan was also speaking about herself.

"When you and your brothers got hit by that comet and got your powers, I'm sure your parents – especially your father – expected you to use them for _good_," Ronan broke off, adjusting the rifle against her shoulder. "I know what it's like. To be a disappointment. To not turn out as expected or as planned. I see it every time I see my mother. I wanted to see if I saw it in him."

Shego made sure that Ronan was done speaking before she replied, "It's true that my parents and brothers are not _thrilled _with the choices I've made. But I didn't make them for them. I made them for myself; on my own. I don't make apologies for who I am," Shego finished. "And neither should you."

Ronan squinted slightly at Shego. Perhaps she wasn't so bad. Better than the goody-goodies Possible, Stoppable, and the GJ clowns. Speaking of them, Ronan suddenly became acutely aware that Minka was watching her and Shego. Shego followed Ronan's gaze and locked eyes with the agent as well. After a moment, Minka returned her attention to her communicator device once again.

Shego was faintly baffled by the exchange she had just had with Ronan. She still wasn't quite clear what she _wanted _from (or with) Drakken. Her intentions were still vague, but had become less ominous as Shego spoke with her. She didn't seem too bad, really; moody, a little off-center and, to some extent, unpleasant, but tolerable.

The two women did not talk for the rest of the ride. Although, Shego noticed Ronan and Sutton discreetly interlace their fingers between them, and Sutton leaned into her back so that his and Ronan's shoulders and heads were butted against one another.

Eventually, the passengers felt the terrain beneath the truck's tires change. The ride got rockier, causing them to have to hold onto the crates, table and each other to remain upright. The truck hit a particularly big dip that sent Drakken's body forward and then slammed it back into the metal wall. He yelled and clutched the back of his head. Shego grabbed his arm before Drakken fell off the crate he was sitting on.

Derek was watching the view outside his little slot intently.

"We're here."

Kim scrambled across the trailer to the slot Ronan had been keeping watch out of. Through it she could see large chunks of broken concrete, skeletons of collapsed buildings, and tangles of rusted wrought iron bars. The truck slowly began to head down a hill, and everyone clung a little tighter to what ever they could.

Eventually, the grade leveled off and the truck drove on for a few minutes more. Finally, it stopped. They heard the cab door opened and slam shut, the crunch of feet on stone, and then the whine of old hinges of the trailer's doors as Igor pulled them open. Rooke was the first the jump out, closely followed by the rest, and they finally got a good look at Pripyat and Chernobyl.

Igor had parked the truck near the edge of a ragged cliff. Behind them, the crumbled lip of the crater rose nearly five stories above them at a mild gradient. In front of them, past the cliff, lay a vast hole. There was a fine mist of dirt and concrete hovering over it, but through the fog they could make out the broken remains of what had been the Nuclear Power Plant at the very center of the crater.

Igor muttered something to Rooke and pointed to the crater lip to their left. Rooke nodded, and Igor headed back for the truck's cab.

"Over there is where the Russian army is stationed," Rooke explained, pointing to the spot Igor had indicated. "They have not gotten near the actual plant yet, and that appears to be the epicenter of the attack."

"Trackers on please!" Angela called from the trailer. She had once again slipped on her computerized gloves and was partially hidden by the array of screens in front of her. The group obeyed her request and a series of color coordinated dots appeared on the main screen.

"Angela and I will stay here and keep an eye on left-over radiation levels within the plant. If they get too high, we'll tell you. Once you get to the bottom, split up," Rooke ordered.

With that, the afore mentioned pairs slowly began to descend into the bowels of the crater. Carefully, they shuffled, climbed, and crawled to the bottom, being careful not to fall or shift the unsteady dirt and concrete beneath their feet too much.

Once they had reached the bottom, Kim looked up and was dizzied by the distance they had dove; the cliff from where they had left was at least ten stories up.

"Let's go, Possible," Ronan drawled, bumping past her. Kim's hand automatically shot to the afflicted shoulder and glared after her 'guide'.

"Hey." Kim turned to see Ron speaking to her. "Be careful."

Kim's face softened, and she kissed him. "You too."

Reluctantly, she turned away from him and followed Ronan into the dark, mangled remains of Pripyat.

"She'll be fine," Sutton said from behind Ron. "Ronan will take care of her."

Ron was doubtful of this, but he didn't say so.

As Sutton untucked one of the VP70Ms from his shoulder holster, he added, "You may want to put your little friend in the pocket of your vest, instead of you pants. It'll protect him from some of the radiation."

Hearing this, Rufus scurried up Ron's vest and crawled into the pocket.

"We'll take this way," Sutton called as he and Ron headed for the path straight in front of him. Drakken and Shego were left.

"After you, my dear," Derek gushed, bowing and presenting the way to his right. Shego's nostrils flared and she sent a plasma laced upper cut to his chest. The punch flipped him over, and he landed on his back. She clapped her hands clean, flicked her long hair over her shoulder and sauntered in the direction Derek had indicated.

Derek wheezed, coughed and spluttered as he shakily got to his feet and stumbled after her.

John-Paul chuckled. "She's a spit-fire."

"Yes she is," Drakken said dreamily.

* * *

Kim would've felt better if she knew what to look for. 'Lorwardian Technology' was much too vague. And what if she, or any of the others, didn't find anything? What then? Would Rooke be insistent on waiting for Cutting to strike again? If that was the case, Kim would have to politely excuse herself out of his Syndicate. She couldn't stand idly by waiting for the bad guys to cause inevitable destruction. Despite Rooke's warnings and precautions, she was sure she and Ron could handle the Black Rabbits just fine.

She didn't know how long she had been following Ronan through the maze of broken rooms and buildings, but an uneasy feeling that this expedition was all for nothing was beginning to settle in Kim's chest.

Neither one of them spoke. Ronan had not turned around once to make sure that Kim was still following, or hadn't lost her way. Not that it mattered, but Kim couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in her for not taking greater stock in her task.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Ronan finally spoke, "I think we're in the plant now."

Kim stopped and looked around. In her vain hunt for something familiar, she hadn't noticed that the sky had disappeared and had been replaced by a forebodingly cracked ceiling. They were standing on the remenants of an iron bridge that had twisted and fallen, so that now it was a mere three feet off the ground.

"Angie," Ronan said. She still was wearing the strange ear piece she had put on in the jet. "Where are we?"

There was a crackle and Kim could hear Angela's reply on the other line.

"You're in the plant. If you keep walking forward the turn the next corner, you should be right by reactor three."

"How are the radiation levels looking?"

"Eh. So – so. I wouldn't move there or anything, but you should be fine just walking through."

Ronan took the rifle from across her shoulders and held it in her arms, and continued across the bridge with Kim in tow.

"You are keeping an eye out for, you know, alien stuff. Right?" Ronan said over her shoulder.

"No. I'm taking in the view," Kim retorted, with a sneer.

The pair continued until they rounded the corner – just as Angela had said – and they saw reactor three just under them. It seemed as though the reactors of the plant had sunk an additional twenty feet into the ground.

"There's three," Ronan whispered, "and there's four."

She jutted her head in the direction just past the reactor right below their feet. Past it, the crumpled shell of reactor four sat, abused and hollow.

"Let's go," and Ronan stepped off of the bridge, onto a broken slab of concrete. Kim followed suit, carefully stepping so that their weight would balance the rogue stone.

However, she was not entirely successful as the slab shifted and dislodged itself from the crater's wall, plummeting down into the third reactor building. Fortunately (or unfortunately), the drop was not straight down, and Ronan and Kim tumbled down the steep slope.

Instinctively, Kim reached for her hairdryer. But after a few seconds of pawing her sides for it, she remembered she didn't have it, and that's when panic set it. She covered her face and head with her arms as her body fell towards the floor of the plant. Her body collided with several objects on the way down, like some sadistic pinball game. Eventually, she rolled down the last embankment and came to a stop on the floor of reactor three.

She took a brief moment to collect herself. Nothing was broken. She was banged up and bruised, but no sharp stabbing pains. Slowly, she got to her feet. Looking down at her vest she saw that the light of her tracker had gone out and there was a large crack in its face.

"Ronan?" Kim called. She didn't see her anywhere. Kim looked up from where they had fallen. She didn't see Ronan up there either, but it was also too dark to be absolutely sure that she hadn't gotten stuck somewhere along the fall. Kim's heart rate quickened. What had happened to her? Was she alright?

"I'm over here," came a pained rasp.

Kim jumped and looked to her right. There was an accidental doorway made from fallen pieces of metal and stone, and from out of the darkness, Ronan staggered through it. Her tracker had gone out too, and she was clutching her left hand.

Automatically, Kim asked, "Are you okay?" even though it was clear she wasn't.

Ronan wasn't gravely wounded in the least, but in an attempt to slow her fall, she had tried to grab hold to something – anything – and had sliced her palm on a broken metal rod. The cut stretched from the heel of her hand to the distal end of her index finger, and it was deep. Ronan tried to stem off the blood flow by squeezing her left hand with her right, but Kim saw her blood was still seeping freely through her fingers.

Kim hurriedly looked around for something to wrap her hand up in. Seeing nothing, she trotted over to a metal rod poking out of a pile of rubble, hooked the hem of her pants onto it, and jerked her leg away, causing the fabric to rip. She tore the strip from the rest of her pant leg, and carefully wrapped it around Ronan's wound a few times before knotting it securely. It wasn't a permanent fix – as the blood was already beginning to stain through the fabric – but it would have to do until they got back to the truck.

"We should head back," Kim said, watching the blood beginning to spot the bandage.

Ronan was about to reply when a loud wrenching and crumbling sound came from inside the reactor.

* * *

Two hours had passed since the group had delved into the depths of the crater. Rooke switched between looking out over the hole's expanse, to hovering behind Angela in the trailer, watching the dots on the screen. Will and Minka sat outside the truck, periodically scanning the sky and the crater lip, keeping an eye out for any Global Justice vehicles.

"Here come J.P. and the doctor," Angela called from her seat.

Rooke was back to standing outside, and he stepped towards the edge of the cliff to see John-Paul and Drakken carefully scaling up the steep face. As the two clambered over the cliff's lip, they stood up and brushed the dust and dirt off their vests and pant legs.

"Well?" Rooke asked.

"We didn't see anything or anyone," John-Paul answered. "We travelled out to that rock face just there."

He pointed in the direction of a large, jagged rock that was poking of the right side of the crater; it was about two or so miles into the actual hole.

"Where are the others?" Drakken asked. "Where's Shego?"

"Everyone seems fine," Angela said from her seat. "It's looks like their all heading back; except Ronan and Kim. They're actually in the Plant, so I expect Ro is gonna skirt through and check things out before heading back."

"Once everyone has returned, we'll load back up and drive to a different side of the crater and resume the search," Rooke decided.

It wasn't long before Sutton and Ron appeared back on the cliff, and a few moments after them, Derek and Shego.

"That was a thorough waste of my time," Shego grumbled, dusting off her pants.

"Nothing?" Sutton asked.

Derek shook his head. "Just a lot of busted living blocks."

Angela barely listened to the conversations out on the cliff, keeping a watchful eye on the two remaining dots on her screen. Ronan and Kim were getting near to reactors three and four. She watched as the two colored specks rounded a corner, stood there for a second, and then they were gone.

"Uh-oh," she whispered.

Before Angela could alert the rest of the group to Kim and Ronan's disappearance, the roar of engines and the cracking and crunching of stone distracted them. Those on the cliff, looked around the truck to see a series of armored cars, and sturdy motor bikes flanking each vehicle, approaching down the mild hill they themselves had used. The front car was tagged in the Global Justice insignia. Will and Minka stepped forward; a small, superior smile etching itself into Will's face.

The first armored car pulled to a stop, the passenger door opened, and Dr. Director hopped out. She appeared more tired, haggered, and stressed than Will could ever remember seeing her, but she straightened and marched towards them.

"Hello Agents," she greeted upon reaching them.

"Dr. Director," they said in unison, nodding respectfully to her.

Director smiled briefly before brushing past them and heading for Rooke.

"Good day, Betty," he said. "How's the mole hunt?"

Director grimaced. "Unsuccessful so far. The papers Miss Pazinski sent are not as helpful as I was led to believe."

Hearing this, Angela scoffed from inside the trailer and muttered, "That's because you're decoders are a bunch of idiots."

"What is going on here?" Director inquired, looking out on the vast, depressed, expanse beyond the cliff.

"I sent my team in pairs with Kim, Ron, Dr. Drakken and Saoirse, and sent them looking for anything that may look or be familiar. They managed to cover about four miles or so. We're just waiting on Ronan and Kim to return, then we'll go looking in other areas."

"Dr. Director," Minka said. Director turned to face her agent. "Might I suggest that Agent Du and I use the ATPs to conduct a more thorough search. I see that you brought them along with."

She pointed in the direction of the line of armored vehicles. The one behind the car Director had gotten out of was much larger, and – as Minka had stated – carried two All-Terrain Pod vehicles that the GJ inventors had recently constructed.

Director lifted an eyebrow. "That might not be such a bad idea. We'll be able to cover more ground than just travelling on foot. We'll wait for Miss Possible to rejoin the group –"

"That might be a problem," Angela interrupted from the trailer.

"Why is that?" Director asked, suspiciously.

"Well," Angela sighed, "her and Ronan's trackers fizzled out. So . . . "

* * *

"What was – " Kim began to whisper, before Ronan slapped her bloodied hand over the teen's mouth. Kim nearly gagged.

Another shifting and grinding sound resonated through the old reactor, followed by a spine-tingling shriek, and then whimpering moans.

"Shhhhhhh! Shut up!" hissed a man's voice, but the choking sobs continued. "Stand up! Come on!"

Ronan let go of Kim's mouth, and signaled for her to follow her. Together, the two slowly creeped towards the voices and they came to hide behind a large slab of up right concrete separating reactors three and four. Carefully, they peeked around the stone, and, just past a large pile of rubble, saw the silhouette of a thin man. He was standing over something – probably the injured person. Kim couldn't make it out, but the man was clutching something in his left hand.

"Get up! Get up, Vrishkov!" the man spat again, kicking the person on the ground.

Kim felt her stomach drop. The man she had set out the rescue was a mere few yards in front of her.

"I – I can't," choked Vrishkov. "My leg! My leg!"

The standing man kneeled down, so that he disappeared behind the pile of rubble. "You _have _to get up. The Syndicate may already be here."

Beside her, Kim heard Ronan softly take up the rifle in her arms.

"Move," Ronan whispered, but Kim didn't. She wasn't going to let Ronan shoot either man. Despite Rooke's insistance, Kim could not abide killing people – good or bad. Kim grit her teeth, and eventually did move, but not out of Ronan's way. She sprung out from behind their hiding place and ran towards the two men. She jumped onto the pile, launched herself into the air, and flipped over the other side.

"Hold it right there!" Kim cried, taking her fighting stance. She had barely gotten a look at Vrishkov and his assailant before two loud _pops!_ filled the air, and Kim felt herself fly backwards and hit the ground. It felt as though she had had the wind knocked out of her; try as she might she couldn't breathe and her body was paralyzed with shock. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. He had shot her, without even so much as a little banter.

Suddenly, there was more gunfire; fast, repeated, ringing shots that deafened Kim, who could only lie there. She didn't know how long the firefight lasted, but she suddenly became aware of Ronan harshly flipping her over on her back. Moving seemed to be the thing that got Kim breathing again. Upon the position change, she took in a great gasping breath, and she felt her nervous system slowly gain control of her body again.

"You fucking idiot!" Ronan screamed, hitting Kim hard across the face.

The punch dazed Kim, but otherwise she did not respond to it. Instead, her fingers travelled down to her vest and began to paw at it. Just above her left breast and near her belly button, she felt two holes in the vest's vinyl fabric. She could also feel the mashed bullets against the lead-titanium plates. Kim's eyes began to water, and the tears involuntarily streamed down her face. She was okay. She wasn't hurt.

"Come on," Ronan growled, grabbing Kim's collar and hauling her to her feet.

"Where'd they go?" Kim whispered hoarsely.

"They had some kind of weird vehicle thing with them," Ronan explained as she began dragging Kim back the way they came. "It could fly. Kind of."

Kim didn't ask what she meant by 'kind of'; she was still trying to recollect herself from being shot. When they reached the base of the slope they had fallen from, they came to a stop.

"Come on," Ronan rasped. "We'll have to climb."

She meticulously placed her hands and feet into secure portions of the wall, and began to make her ascent. Kim just stood there, unsure of what to do. Her brain was telling her feet to move forward, but they wouldn't do it. She didn't know why she was having such trouble regaining herself; she had been in dangerous situations before. Why was her mind and body tweaking out now?

Kim tried to call out to Ronan, to tell her she couldn't climb the slope, but her tongue felt like a giant wad of cotton in her mouth. All she could do was make guttural choking sounds. Her ears were still ringing from the gunshots, and any other periphael sound was muffled, as if she was underwater.

Suddenly, Ronan slid back down the slope. Kim thought that it was her immobility that caused Ronan to dive back down, and she tried to speak again to explain herself. But she couldn't. Her mouth was still dry and tight. Ronan bull-rushed her back into the room from where they had emerged. For the second time, Kim had the wind knocked from her as she and Ronan hit the hard floor. Had Kim been more verbally coherent, she would've asked Ronan what her problem was. Although it became clear enough as a loud, resounding _BOOM!_ resonated through the air and shook the already unstable architecture. Ronan planted herself across Kim, in a mildly provocative position, trying to shield her from pieces of stone and metal raining from the ceiling.

After a minute, the shaking stopped and Ronan got off of Kim. Daylight was pouring through the recently demolished ceiling, and Kim squinted against the new glare. Slowly, her ears began to receive sound again, and she could've sworn she heard someone calling her name.

"Kim!"

Kim squinted into the sky, noticing an odd black object that was slowly descending upon her and Ronan.

"Kim!" yelled the voice again, and she shot up.

"Ron!" she finally managed to choke out as she stumbled into his arms. She clung to him tighter than she had ever remembered doing. Behind him, she saw Minka perched in the driver's seat of an odd looking vehicle. It almost looked like a topless Hum-vee, but the frame was smooth and aerodynamic, as oppose to angular and bulky.

Ronan stared at the machine. "That's what they had," she whispered.

"Yeah, well, it looks like the mole gave the designs of the proto-type to the Black Rabbits," Minka snapped. "Now get in!"

Ron helped Kim into the back seat of the ATP, and Ronan stepped over them, taking the passenger seat next to Minka.

"What is this?"

"All-Terrain Pod," Minka answered, shifting the gears. Instead of a steering wheel, her hands were wrapped around an airplane-like throttle. She adjusted the stick shift next to her and the ATP's heavy wheels tucked up into its chassis, allowing the vehicle to hover above the ground. Minka twisted the throttle and pulled it towards her, causing the ATP to smoothly glide up the embankment Ronan had been scaling.

"You're not kidding about the 'all-terrain'," Kim muttered, regaining her ability to speak.

Minka continued to artfully handle the ATP, weaving inbetween obstacles, gliding up and down hills. It was only a couple minutes later that they began to approach the cliff from where they had initially descended.

"Hold on," Minka warned, as she pulled the throttle sharply downward, lifting the nose of the ATP, and guiding against the near-sheer rock face. She over-shot the cliff by about fifteen feet, before she leveled out the vehicle, and slowly began to land it.

The rest of the Syndicate, Drakken, Shego, and Will and Director watched apprehensively as the ATP lowered itself to the ground. Once the vehicle was about eight feet from the ground, Ronan leapt out of it and strode towards the truck.

She jumped inside and rounded the bank of floating monitors to Angela.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Don't worry about it," Ronan answered. "Please tell me you have some sort of lock on Vrishkov."

Angela turned and pointed to the screen to her immediate left. "I was able to lock onto the anti-gravity signature those ATP's use. The one that came out of the plant is heading west. Did you say Vrishkov was driving it?"

"I doubt it," Ronan said hollowly, watching the screen with the rogue ATP intently. "He's hurt. The Rabbit he's with is probably driving it."

Before Angela could ask another question, Ronan leapt from the truck and jogged over to one of the motor bike drivers that had escorted the GJ convoy in.

"I need to borrow this bike," she said urgently.

The driver looked at her perplexed and disgusted, and shook his head. "Нет, № ужасно девочки, вы не может иметь этот мотоцикл. . . "

The Russian man continued to ramble on and on. Saying what, Ronan did not know or care. She just needed the fucking bike!

Letting out a frustrated cry, she reached for the man's holster, wrenched the pistol from it, and smacked him across the face with the weapon. The man fell over with a cry and a grunt, feeling blood and teeth pour out of his mouth. Ronan tossed the gun on the ground, mounted the bike, and sped up the hill, towards high ground.

Everyone left on the cliff (save for the remaining members of the Syndicate) stood in utter shock of what had just transpired. The whole ordeal of Ronan leaping from the ATP, talking with Angela, and man-handling the Russian soldier had taken all of forty-five seconds.

Next to Drakken, Shego muttered, "Shit."

Betty turned to glower at Rooke. He simply stared back at her, unflinchingly. Kim, Ron and Minka had remained in the ATP , stuck to their seats as they watched Ronan go on her rampage. For whatever reason, this sparked Kim into action, and she climbed over the front seat, and sat next to Minka.

"Let's go," she said.

Minka smiled, and before she could take off, Will quickly jumped into the seat vacated by Kim.

* * *

What Ronan wouldn't give to be on her Ducati at that very moment. The Russian officer's bike was too clunky and slow for her liking, even though she had managed to get it up to a cruising speed of 100 mph. The dry wind whipped at her cheekbones and they began to sting, and her eyes watered. Come to think of it, she would mind having her helmet right about now, too.

After clearing the crater, Ronan turned the bike west and began scanning the horizon for the Rabbit's ATP. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots. She couldn't let them get away. Not when she was so close. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched the handle bars hard, her black tattoos popping against the paleness of her skin.

That fucking Possible. She was the reason the Rabbit and Vrishkov had escaped. If she had just let Ronan blow the Rabbit's head off, they could've grabbed Vrishkov and be done with this whole mess.

Just as the bike's frame was beginning to rattle with the discomfort of keeping up its speed, Ronan saw the ATP in the distance.

"Come on, baby," she muttered, "just a little longer."

She gently pushed to bike to speed up the best it could, as she closed the space between her and the ATP. Behind her she heard a soft, steady, recently familiar humming. She eyed the bike's side mirror and was greeted by the site of Minka, Kim, Will and Ron in their own vehicle. Instead of hovering, Minka was driving the ATP at a fast encroaching speed. Ronan grit her teeth and urged the bike to go faster.

* * *

She was about a half mile behind her prey when J.R. finally noticed her. He had taken a precautionary glance behind him and was infuriated to see the skeletal and odd-looking young woman fast approaching on a motorcycle. Behind her, he also caught a glimpse of a GJ issued ATP.

J.R. turned back in his seat, eying the road and the dials in front of him. He had already tapped out in terms of speed, he couldn't evade her for much longer. Next to him, Vrishkov was groaning, clutching at his injured leg. It had been crushed when they set off the device and did not clear the site quick enough. They had both been entombed in rubble for a few hours before J.R. was able to dig his way out and search for the doctor. When he found Vrishkov, he found that the only thing keeping him down was a large plate of sheet rock laid across his left leg. It took another couple hours, but J.R. was finally able to extract him, although not without severe bodily harm. The rock seemed to have completely shattered Vrishkov's leg, and part of his hip. In the process of getting him out, Vrishkov also sustained several deep cuts. Luckily, his femoral artery was spared.

J.R. hoped that Cutting would be pleased with the small box's destructive capabilities. Otherwise this entire shit-show would've been for nothing.

He glanced behind him again, to see where the Syndicate agent was now.

Fuck.

She was damn near tailing him.

* * *

Both Kim and Minka were watching the back of Ronan intensely. Neither was quite sure what she had in mind, but allowing her to get her hands on the Rabbit was not a good idea, as far as either of them was concerned.

"Kim," Minka said suddenly. Kim looked at her. "In the glove box there's a grappling gun. Get it out."

"What's the plan, Minka?" Will asked, leaning over the seat.

Kim flipped open the glove box and retrieved the grappling gun.

Minka paused and licked her lips, not taking her eyes off of Ronan. "Were gonna try and snag the other ATP."

* * *

As Ronan closed in closer and closer to her prey, her heart rate quickened. She frantically searched her mind for an idea how to commandeer the Rabbit's ATP. She fixated on the vehicle's rear.

She could make that jump. Easy.

She quickly tore away the make-shift bandage on her left hand and wrapped it around the bike's throttle, so that it would maintain its speed when she let go of the handlebars. Slowly, she dismounted her feet from the pedals, carefully bringing them up to the top of the bike's frame. Holding on to the handlebars, Ronan carefully lifted herself off of the seat. In a quick hop, she brought her toes to rest on the seat. She was now crouched down on the bike, carefully balancing her long body on the seat and handlebars.

Taking a deep breath, she removed her hands from the bars, isometrically contraction her core and legs as a means of balancing.

She could do this.

She just had to jump.

Not taking her eyes off of the back of the Rabbit's head, she felt the muscles in her thighs and buttocks tighten further, preparing for the launch. Ronan exhaled and began to push herself off of the bike seat.

However, just before her boots completely left the bike, there was a small '_pop_' and the motorcycle was pulled out from underneath her. Ronan's stomach plummeted into her toes as her balance and the path of her jump was destroyed, and she fell to the ground. Her body smacked the dirt road, crumpled and rolled several feet until friction finally stopped her.

As she lay there – surprised that the tumble didn't kill her – Ronan became acutely aware of the searing sensation covering her right side and the throbbing of her right ear. She also noticed the taste of iron in her mouth. Blood. She continued to lie on the road motionless, too stunned to move.

What had just happened?

* * *

**A/N: **For reference sake:

- "Mom, I'm not gonna stand here and reenact 'True Lies' with you . . . "

'True Lies' is a 1994 film starring Arnold Schwarzennegger and Jamie Lee Curtis. Ronan is referring to (my personal favorite piece of dialogue in the film): "Have you ever killed anyone?" "Ya . . . but they were all bad."

- Translations for Rooke's conversation with Ivan

Rooke: Ivan! How are you? Thank you so much for arranging this on such short notice.

Ivan: It is good to see you too, Stephen. This was no problem. I'd do anything for you and your Syndicate. Good to see you Derek, Sutton, and John-Paul . . . Come. There is not much time. I have a truck prepared for you.

- Translation of what the Russian says to Ronan: No. No, you ugly girl! You cannot have this motorcycle . . .

I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Please don't forget to review! Have a great week!


	12. Thanks for the Chromosomes

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kim Possible or any of its related characters or locations. I do own the Syndicate members, Minka, and Karen.

* * *

As Kim carefully aimed the grappling gun, she exhaled steadily through her nose. The rockiness of the road made lining up the sites of the hook and the bumper of the Rabbit's ATP more difficult than it otherwise would've been. It also didn't help that the bike Ronan stole kept sliding in and out of Kim's line of sight. Eventually, Kim was absolutely certain that she had a lock on the other vehicle. Gritting her teeth, her finger looped around the trigger and pulled.

Just as the grappling hook was ejected from the nose of the gun, the ATP hit a large patch of loose dirt, altering Kim's target line. The hook shot forward, snagged the back of Ronan's bike, and pulled it out from under her. Kim's stomach dropped as she watched the product of her mistake. Even through the wind and engine of the ATP, she could hear Ronan's body smack the ground – a sound that much resembled that of dropping a watermelon from the top of a building onto hard pavement.

"Stop the car! Stop the car!" Kim yelled, watching as Ronan's arms and legs twisted every which way as she rolled along the ground.

Minka applied the breaks, bringing the ATP to a swift halt. Kim leapt from the vehicle and started to run towards Ronan's body, just as Minka reached for a phone hidden in the console and called for help.

"Please be okay, please be okay," Kim breathlessly muttered to herself as she approached the crash site.

The bike had been pulled towards the ATP and now lay on its side, its front wheel and steering column bent. Ronan laid, face down, several meters away. As Kim closed in, she saw that her legs seemed fine – in the sense that they didn't appear to be broken. However, her jeans had been ripped to shreds and her skin varied from rash-red to bloody and raw. Her right arm was pinned under her torso, and it looked like her shoulder may have been dislocated in the fall. Her left arm appeared to be unblemished. Lucky for her, the lead-titanium vest had acted as a sort of Kevlar, and had protected most of her body from varying degrees of road rash.

"Please be okay, please be okay. Ronan?" Kim gasped, trying to catch her breath. She knelt beside the woman, her hands hovering over her body, unsure of whether or not to roll her over.

Ronan's head was turned towards Kim, and she could hear the wheezing breath seeping in and out of her lips.

"Ronan? Ronan?" Kim asked urgently. "Can you hear me?"

She listened intently for any response, but was distracted by the commotion happening by the ATP: Minka trying to explain what had happened and requesting assistance.

Ronan sucked in a large breath of air, once again grabbing Kim's attention. The teen looked down to see Ronan watching her. The impact of the fall and subsequent rolling had caused subconjunctival hemorrhaging, so that the whites of her eyes were now blood red; an eerie canvas for her yellow iris.

"I fucking hate you," Ronan rasped before she passed out.

* * *

"Well," Director said, approaching Rooke," his jaw is broken."

She was referring to the soldier who Ronan had pistol-whipped. Once she, Minka, Will, Kim, and Ron left in pursuit of the other ATP, he had been carted off to the medical ambulance of the Global Justice caravan.

"If it's a matter of insurance deductibles, I will gladly handle it financially," Rooke offered, stepping out of the rig Angela and her computer screens were in.

"It's not a matter of that, Rooke!" Director exploded. "It is a matter of having your agents conduct themselves in an appropriate, level-headed manner! It's not productive, efficient, or _safe_ to have mentally and emotionally unstable people running around doing _your _kind of work! That girl needs to be sedated or have a lobotomy, or something!"

"I think that's a bit extreme," Rooke said, coolly.

By now, Drakken had stepped forward, just behind Rooke. Something inside him stirred as Director began to rip into Ronan. Something paternal and protective. Almost involuntarily, his face contorted into an angry scowl. Director noticed and snorted.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it Dr. Drakken?"

Drakken's nostrils flared and his fists balled at his side. He felt something spiny slither under the back of his shirt and vest as a thorny vine curled toward his front. Shego stepped up beside him and put a cautioning hand on his forearm. Director watched the vine with mild curiosity, before turning her attention back to Rooke.

"Rooke," she began, "this Cutting character is clearly a threat," she gestured to the gaping hole around them, "therefore, I think it would be sensible if our agents did not go around acting suspicious, much less inflict violence, upon one another."

Rooke paused for a moment, considering her statement. "Betty, my agents will cease being suspicious of your agents and counterparts when you stop letting moles into your organization."

Director's face fell, and behind Rooke she saw Shego mouth the words 'Oh snap!' and silently went through the motion of snapping her fingers.

Before she could respond, Angela hopped out of the truck's rig, the gloves removed from her hands.

"If y'all are done with your verbal slap and tickle fight," she chided, "we have another problem."

"What sort of problem?" Director hissed.

Angela's usual chipper façade was quickly clouded as she said, "There's been an accident."

* * *

The smell of iodine and antiseptic were the first things Ronan noticed as she began to come to. Then the strangely vague sensation of something tugging at the skin of her left palm, followed by the steadily increasing discomfort radiating from her right shoulder manifested. Slowly, she peeled back her eyelids, only to find her sight hazy. She blinked a couple of times, the cloudiness subsiding. She glanced over to her left and saw Sutton sitting beside her. He was holding her hand, injured side up, carefully looping a needle and thread in and out of the skin.

Sensing her eyes on him, he looked up, smiled, and returned his focus to stitching up the gash on her hand.

"Well, good morning," he said, pulling the needle through her flesh and tugging the seam together. "You look like you had about thirty old-fashioneds," he chuckled, gesturing to his eyes.

Finding her voice, she said, "I _feel _like I had about thirty old-fashioneds."

As her vision continued to clear up, she could see that Drakken was silently hovering behind Sutton, watching him work on her hand. It was then she realized the situation in which she found herself: she was lying on a cold, steel table, in some kind of sterile-florescent hospital room. Her boots had been removed and her jeans carefully cut off, the shreds of which were piled in a corner. She was left wearing a pair of black brief-style underwear and a flimsy white tank top.

For whatever reason, seeing Drakken there sent an uncomfortable mix of emotions running through her. She felt awkward and embarrassed that she lay across the table in little more than undergarments, revealing her painfully rail-thin form. She found herself ashamed that she was there in the first place, because she hadn't done her job. She had let the Rabbit get away. She became upset, ashamed and embarrassed that she had failed, and she was angry that she cared what Drakken thought of that.

Trying to shake free of the building wave of self-loathing, Ronan spoke again: "What happened?"

Sutton tied off the last stitch and cut the remaining thread. He turned in his seat, gestured for something, and Drakken handed him a roll of gauze.

"From what I understand," Sutton began, unrolling a strip of fabric, "both you and Kim tried to commandeer the other ATP at the same time."

Ronan looked at him, waiting for a more detailed explanation as to why the fact that both she and Kim trying to capture the Rabbit had left her banged up and mangled, half-naked on a cold table.

Sutton glanced over at her as he began to delicately wrap the length of gauze around her hand. "The grappling gun Kim tried to use hooked onto the back of the bike instead of the other ATP."

"So it's her fault."

Sutton pursed his lips, trying to come up with a diplomatic answer that would sway Ronan's anger at the teen.

"Yes," Drakken answered.

Mildly irritated, Sutton turned to look at the doctor.

"What?" Drakken demanded, "It is!"

"So the Rabbit and Vrishkov did get away?" Ronan asked.

Sutton nodded, "Yes."

"Angie can't track them?"

"By the time we got to you, the ATP's signal went out."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that they either got a different ride, or they figured out how to dislocate its transmitter or tracker."

Ronan shook her head slightly as she looked up at the room's white ceiling. She felt her jaw and throat muscles begin to tighten as she thought about the days' events. She had been so close. So close! Now, as far as she knew, they were nowhere nearer to rescuing Vrishkov or knowing how Cutting had taken out an entire city. Unable to reign in and extinguish her mounting anger, she decided to direct it at Kim and the GJ agents, as oppose to herself. After all, at the end of the day, it wasn't her fault. It was theirs.

"Ro?"

"Where are we?" she asked abruptly, continuing to stare at the ceiling.

"In a GJ medical van," Sutton explained, taping down the gauze with medial adhesive.

"Where's Possible?"

"Ronan – "

Before Sutton could stop her, she sat up. Which she soon realized was a big mistake. The pain in her right shoulder exploded, making her vision briefly go diplopic. A new discomfort also tingled from within her abdomen, and she found it challenging to breath properly. Not being one to let on to her feelings – emotional or physical – Ronan masked her soreness with listless bemusement. Glancing down at her right shoulder, she saw an unnatural divot and protrusion between her clavicle and the ball of her humerus.

"Hmm. That's not where that should be."

"Yeah. We haven't gotten around to fixing that yet," Sutton said with a sigh.

"What have you been doing?"

"Well," Sutton began unsteadily, sitting back in his chair, "we had to get your jeans off and clean out the wounds in your legs so they wouldn't become infected. Then the vest, while protecting you from road rash, caused you to crack a couple of ribs –"

Unable to stand there silently any longer, Drakken broke in, "Then we had to – er – patch up . . . " he slowly broke off, unable to properly described what he and Sutton had had to do with out getting queasy. He haphazardly gestured to the right side of his head, by his ear.

Ronan squinted at him. "Mirror," she demanded, holding out her bandaged hand.

Reluctantly, Sutton handed her a small medical mirror from the table of tools at his side. She took it and held it up to her face, inspecting the area Drakken had indicated.

"Wha . . . Fuck."

The right side of her face was an unpleasant tye-dye of red, purple, and yellow discoloration. The skin around her ear had been rubbed raw to the stinging red dermal layer underneath. The lobe and helix of the ear were maimed to the point that Derek would probably call her 'Chip' for the rest of her life. The 1.6-millimeter plug that had been in her ear lobe was gone; luckily, the lobe itself remained intact. Several of the smaller pins and hoops that had been pierced into her helix and antihelix had been ripped from their place, leaving odd, irregular, bloody holes. Probably the most prominent injury was the jagged tear at the apex of her ear, where a scaffold piercing had once been.

Ronan lowered the mirror and frowned.

"We're probably gonna need to patch that up before we leave," Sutton said.

Ronan handed him back the mirror, nodding. "Let's just get this back into place," she said quietly, referring to her dislocated shoulder.

"Can you help with that, or should I get someone else?" Sutton asked, turning to Drakken.

He paled a bit at the thought, and stammered, "You might want to get . . . someone else."

Sutton got up and headed for the door of the van. Drakken paused for a second, unsure whether or not he should leave or stay. Part of him felt like he should stay with Ronan, but another part of him really really _really_ did not want to watch or hear the process of placing her shoulder back together. He glanced down at her. She was staring into space, oblivious of his concern. Drakken exited the van just as Sutton returned with J.P.

"Hey," greeted a voice to his side.

He turned to see Shego standing just beyond the medical van. He took a couple steps towards her.

"How is she?" she asked.

Drakken paused and shrugged. "She's fine. No life threatening injuries."

Noticing his rather detached manner of speaking, she asked, "How are you?"

Drakken fixed Shego with a puzzled look. "I don't know."

* * *

Kim had been sitting uneasily in the same chair for the last hour or so. Once the GJ caravan, along with the truck she and the Syndicate had taken to the crater, arrived at the crash site, Director ushered her, Ron, Will and Minka into a large GJ trailer. The interior of the trailer was set up like a mini-GJ headquarters: with a long meeting table, a bank of computer and communication monitors, and several other creature comforts of a secular protection organization.

"You know," Dr. Director said, "you shouldn't fret too much over the accident." She was standing at one end of the center table, looking over a series of papers. "Had Miss Anderson not jumped-the-gun – so to speak – you would've been able to capture the Rabbit and rescue Vrishkov. Besides, she is not gravely injured. She'll make a full recovery."

"She's right, Kim," Ron agreed. He had been sitting next to her for the better part of the hour, with Rufus perched on the arm of Kim's chair.

"You did good, Possible," Will said. He had taken up his usual spot hovering behind Director.

Minka was the only one not to have said something reassuring to Kim since the accident. She had seated herself at the monitor bank, conducting necessary correspondence with the actual headquarters of Global Justice. Her quietness made Kim believe that she also felt guilty for the accident and somewhat responsible for the Rabbit's escape.

There was a knock at the door of the trailer, and Rooke stepped inside.

"I need to know what happened," he said calmly.

Kim looked up at him, and Minka turned in her seat.

"In the crater and what followed," he added. He took a couple of steps towards Kim, grabbing a chair and sitting down.

He had left the trailer door open and Kim could see both Drakken and Shego hovering just outside, waiting for the story.

Kim licked her lips and slowly began the run down of details. "When we got into the actual Plant, we fell . . . down an embankment. That's when our trackers went out. Then we heard someone from inside the reactor."

"Who?"

"Vrishkov," Kim answered. "He was hurt. I don't know how, where, or how badly, but he didn't sound good. Something about his leg."

"What about the Rabbit?" Rooke urged.

Kim shook her head, "I didn't get a good look at him."

Rooke nodded understandingly. "What next?"

Kim adjusted herself in her seat, "Ronan and I headed towards Vrishkov, and once we got close enough," Kim paused, unsure how she should continue.

"She wanted to eliminate the Rabbit," Rooke filled in, "but you didn't allow it."

Kim's lips twitched into a fleeting grimace and nodded. Rooke sighed and looked down at his feet before locking eyes with Kim, cuing her to continue.

"I tried to . . . get him to let Vrishkov go, but he shot at me before I could get a good look at him." Kim hoarsely explained. "I don't really know what happened next. There was a lot of gunfire, and then they escaped."

Rooke pointed to the left side of his face, and then to Kim. She brought her fingertips to her swollen purple cheek.

"Yeah," she said bashfully, "she laid into me pretty good after that. Minka and Ron showed, brought us back to base, and that's when we went after them.

"Ronan was ahead of us. Obviously. Once we had gotten close enough, Minka told me that there was a grappling gun in the ATP's front compartment. So, I got it out. I tried to aim the hook at the other ATP's bumper, but when I fired, we swerved and I hooked Ronan's bike instead."

Rooke nodded almost imperceptibly as he took in the information. He then turned to Minka, "What happened?"

Minka stiffened in her seat, her eyes growing icy, "We hit a patch of loose dirt. The road wasn't paved."

"Are you insinuating something, Rooke?" Director asked coldly.

"Not at all," Rooke replied, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to understand how and why our targets escaped and why one my agents nearly ended up as road kill." He turned back to Kim, "You didn't happen to see whether or not they had whatever they used to destroy Pripyat?"

Kim shook her head. "No. The Rabbit was holding something – besides his gun, I mean. But I couldn't see what it was. Whatever it was, I doubt it caused that scale of damage."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because," Kim coughed, "he was _holding _it. With one hand. Do you really think that something that could fit in your palm could take out an entire city?"

Rooke raised his thick eyebrows and cocked his head, "What makes you think it's not possible? You and I have seen more surprising things than that, haven't we?"

"Warmonga did have that little box thing that turned into an entire lab," Drakken whispered to Shego, hearing Rooke. Shego nodded absentmindedly.

"Kim," Rooke said, "do you remember what I told you prior to coming here?"

Kim stared the man, her heart beginning to thump and a lump growing in her throat.

"If you are to work with my team," he reminded, "you must work their way. If you couldn't do that, then you shouldn't have come."

Even though Kim stuck by her morals, she couldn't help but feel embarrassed as Rooke spoke to her. He wasn't angry. He was disappointed. And despite only having met the man a few days earlier, she hated that she had let him down.

"That's a bit much, Mr. Rooke," Minka scolded.

Before Rooke could respond, there was a loud _BANG _outside – a door being flung open. A few seconds later, Ronan appeared in the trailer's doorway. Her wounds were bandaged up and her shoulder snapped back into place. She was wearing a pair of athletic shorts, tank top, no shoes, and such a crazed expression that Kim thought that – had Drakken not been there – he had undergone some whacked out gender-switching experimentation.

"You!" she growled, and advanced towards Kim.

Just before crossing over to Kim's seat, a pair of electrodes on wires sprung across the room and attached themselves to her shirt. Ronan collapsed immediately. Everyone looked over at Minka, who was still seated, holding the TASER steadily in her hands.

"_That_ was a bit much," Rooke lectured.

Minka didn't reply as she let loose the trigger and recoiled the electrodes from Ronan's shirt. Drakken stepped up into the trailer, knelt beside Ronan, intending on helping her up. She waved him away and got roughly to her feet. Staggering slightly, Ronan crossed over to Minka. The GJ agent stood up from her seat, her shoulders drawn back defiantly. Ronan stopped when she was little more than a foot in front of Minka, staring down at her. Despite the fact that Ronan towered nearly a foot above her, Minka didn't back down, flinch, or show any sign of intimidation.

"I don't like you," Ronan stated.

"That tears me up on the inside," Minka replied, not blinking.

"Get out," Dr. Director ordered.

Ronan looked at her lazily and paused. Slowly she turned on her heel and headed back towards the door, running her long fingers across the table's surface. Just before passing it, Ronan slipped her hand underneath the table and flipped it over without so much as a backward glance as she exited the trailer. The papers Director had been skimming over fluttered to the ground in a chaotic fashion. After a moment, Will ducked down, set the table right, and began to collect the fallen files. Minka sat back in her seat, facing the monitor bank, and began to transcribe an incoming transmission.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Rooke finally announced, "We will be heading back to Belarus shortly. We'll fly back to the Manor from there."

Kim exchanged a glance with Rooke and then looked at Ron, who knit his eyebrows together and shrugged.

"And from there," Director added, "I will come to pick up the families and Drakken and Shego."

"What?"

"Rooke, if the Black Rabbits are indeed after them, I cannot stand idle while they are in the midst of an organization that would no sooner abuse them as well," Director explained. "Face it, most of your agents are not in positions to care whether or not the Possibles or Stoppables or Drakken or Shego get captured. All they care about is hunting Cutting down. Continue your hunt. I don't care. I just don't want the intended targets around you and your team."

For a split second, Kim was on the verge of telling Director that, despite Ronan had knocked her silly, she had saved her from the Rabbit and then again when the Plant caved in. Before Kim could tell, though, Shego leapt into the trailer.

"Pffft. What makes you think we _want _to come with you?"

"I never said it was a matter of wanting. It's a matter of necessity. To keep you safe."

"Puh-lease," Shego scoffed. "If I had to chose between you and Bitchy McTable-Flipper out there, I'd take her over you any day."

"I have no doubts," Director grumbled.

"I'm staying with you guys," Shego said, turning her attention to Rooke. "For now at least."

Director raised her eyebrows and shifted her gaze to Drakken, "I suppose it's useless to even ask what you're going to do. You do whatever she tells you," she said, nodding at Shego.

Drakken furrowed his brow, and roughly took up Shego's hand in his own; a gesture that seemed to briefly surprise her. "I have other reasons besides Shego to stay."

Director's gaze shot down to the villains' clasped hands, then back to Drakken. "Figures."

It was Kim and Ron's turn to speak, and neither was ready to do so. Yes, Global Justice was 'more their speed', but, really, Director couldn't guarantee their or their families safety if there was indeed a Black Rabbit mole within GJ. On the other hand, neither was certain if they could abide by the Syndicate for very long, much less get along amicably with its workers.

Luckily, Minka saved them from making that choice.

"Dr. Director," she said, getting up from her chair and holding a slip of paper, "we've been summoned to Washington D.C."

* * *

After the minor fiasco in the GJ trailer, Ronan headed back to the truck she and the Syndicate had taken to Chernobyl. The rest of the group was already inside, awaiting departure.

"What's up with you?" Angie asked, noticing the deep scowl on her face.

Ronan shook her head and flexed her fingers. "I got . . . tased," she quietly said.

Angie smirked, "Man, it is just not your day."

"Tell me about it."

Ronan crossed over to the box next to Sutton and sat down. She tucked her banged up legs under her chin and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I need a cigarette," she whispered.

"You're fine," Sutton replied, taking her hand in his and kissing her head.

"So what happened down there?" Derek asked, leaning forward on his box.

Ronan closed her eyes, breathing in slowly through her nose. She really didn't want to talk about it, but eventually she said, "Possible fucked it up. We had the Rabbit _and _Vrishkov, and she decided that confronting them would be the appropriate manner of carrying out the mission.

"The Rabbit shot her, but she's fine. The vest did its job," she said (almost bitterly). "Then they got away. Did any of you find anything down there?"

All heads in the truck shook.

"Not a damn thing," Derek answered.

Just then Rooke entered the back of the truck, and almost immediately closed the doors behind him. After locking them, he turned around to face the group; specifically, Ronan.

"What was that?" he demanded.

Ronan lifted her head from Sutton's shoulder and untucked her legs from under her chin.

"It's her fault, you know. I was this close," she held her thumb and index finger about half an inch apart, "to getting to Vrishkov. If she hadn't gotten in the damn way, we could've gotten him out of the Black Rabbits. We could've found out what exactly Cutting is up to! Now we have nothing – absolutely nothing – to go on! We are back to square one."

Rooke began to open his mouth to respond, but Ronan continued her rant, "On what fucking planet did you think it was a good idea to allow Pippy Longstockings and her Rat-Toting toadie to tag along on this little excursion? Neither of them fully understands the gravity of the situation, nor are they capable of appreciating it. You knew that! You know it! They're two kids who like to play cops and robbers without any real consequences. They're trying to be successful in an arena where, to be successful, you need to abandon society's fucking biblically based morals and fucking kill something now and again. And they won't do that. They want to try and pretend that simply capturing the bad guy is enough. That locking them away will solve the problems that the villain has created. We all know that's not true!"

By now Ronan had gotten up and was standing in front of Rooke. "Today was a fucking joke! Possible nearly got both of us killed in the Plant and then again when we were chasing down GJ's weird-ass vehicle thing.

"She shouldn't be here. She doesn't want to be here! She has a giant spirit stick up her ass and thinks she knows better. She thinks knows how to handle this situation," Ronan paused very briefly as a snide, deadly smile spread across her face. "Ya know what? Let her. Let her and the families go do as they please. Let Kim Possible go off and take care of this _her _way; see how far she gets. I think she'll find that her stupid motto isn't quite as fitting as it once was. I'd be willing to wager that by the end of next week, news organizations will be all a flutter with the bloody and untimely demise of Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable and their families – "

"That's enough," Rooke finally said. "I was more referring to the incident in Betty's make-shift headquarters," he explained. "What exactly were you planning on doing if Agent Carlisle hadn't interfered?"

Ronan shifted her weight to her left – less injured – leg. She frowned, looking past Rooke, off into space. She didn't know what she was going to do if she had gotten her hands on Kim at that moment. At the time, she had been blind with rage at the teen hero for not only allowing Vrishkov to escape, but also that she had caused Ronan the crash the bike. Had Minka not been there to 'pacify' the situation, Ronan might've given Kim a matching bruise on her other cheek . . . or worse. Earlier had been an excellent example of what happened when Ronan got too worked up: she didn't think about the consequences of her actions and tended to either beat the offender to a pulp (or, again, _worse)_ or she would yell and scream profane streams of consciousness.

Despite her silence, Rooke knew the answer.

"I agree with you," he began, "that directly including Miss Possible may not have been the best choice. However, I will not allow her or her family out into the world to be at the mercy of the Black Rabbits. Because, you're right. Once Cutting gets what he wants, he will dispose of them. I fully intend on him killing Vrishkov once he's no longer useful. I have greater concerns about you, though," Rooke finished.

"What do you mean?"

"You have been on edge more than normal," Rooke said, pity in his eyes. "Ms. Walsh said that you had blown through about an entire carton of cigarettes this past week. She noticed when she was taking out the garbage," he explained. "You were more impulsive and sloppy today than I can ever remember seeing you. You attacked a person we're trying to protect, assaulted a Global Justice officer, and then attempted to harm Kim yet again."

Rooke's voice had shifted from a disappointed, fatherly tone, to one that was stern and angry.

"I feared this would happen," he said quietly.

Before Ronan could ask what he meant by that, the doors of the trailer rattled as someone from outside tried to open them. Rooke hesitated for a moment, before going over, unlocking the doors and pushed them open. Drakken and Shego were standing just outside, matching curious expressions on their faces.

"Sooooo," Shego drawled, "are we going or what?"

Rooke cleared his throat and said, "Yes, of course."

He stepped aside, allowing the pair to enter the trailer. As Drakken passed him, Rooke glanced at him and then to Ronan who hadn't taken her eyes off of the Syndicate leader. She felt her insides go hollow as she realized what he had meant by his last comment.

No sooner had Drakken and Shego taken up seats, did Minka, Will, Kim and Ron approach the truck.

"Mr. Rooke," Will called, marching forward.

"Yes Agent Du?"

"You and the Syndicate's presence have also been called to D.C."

There was a flurry of muttering and confused glances exchanged between the Syndicate members upon hearing this news.

"That's unusual," Rooke commented.

"Indeed," Will agreed. "Dr. Director quickly called up the president after you left the Global Justice trailer, and mentioned your participation in passing; he wants to meet with you as well."

Despite his professional air, Will couldn't fully mask his annoyance that he would be around the Syndicate for another day or so.

"Are you coming with us?" Rooke asked when the four young adults didn't move from outside the truck.

"I explained to Dr. Director that it would probably be a good idea to have us accompany you all to D.C." Minka reasoned. "To make sure that you all showed."

She eyed Drakken, Shego, and Ronan.

Rooke fixed a look on Ronan again, who was still standing a couple of feet away, her face still slack with despondence.

"Is the Daeva prepared for a long flight?" he asked.

She didn't answer at first. Her mouth was tight with anger; she hated that Rooke had poked at a very sensitive nerve.

Finally she said, "I'll need to tweak some things, but we should be ready to go in less than an hour once we get back to the farm."

* * *

The ride back to Belarus seemed a lot longer than the ride from there. Like before, it was predominantly silent. Derek, John-Paul, and Rooke struck up a quiet, but unimportant conversation, and Minka quietly chatted with Kim, trying to make her feel better. Every now and then, Kim would glance over at Ronan. She did not return her gaze, or even make any sign that she knew Kim was watching her. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest, and she was staring intensely at the truck's floor. A small surge of shock shot through Kim when Sutton looped his arm around her shoulders and encouraged Ronan to lean her head against his shoulder. Drakken noticed this too.

Once they had returned to the farm, Ivan invited them back into the cottage for a quick meal before they were to depart again. It was now six in the evening, and the group had not had anything to eat all day. Upon entering the cottage's large airy kitchen, each person was suddenly overwhelmed with hunger; everyone, except Ronan, who had headed straight for the Daeva after arriving back at the farm. Ivan's wife had prepared a spread of rich, hearty food so that the famished agents would be prepared for the next leg of their journey. Plump, warm loaves of oat bread, Borscht, root vegetables braised in a butter and herb sauce, and a large beef roast stuffed with wild rice and raisins.

Rooke ate a small plate of food, which he polished off quickly, and then was led away by Ivan to the house phone so that he could call Margo and inform her of the day's events and their current situation.

Drakken also ate like a bird, Shego noticed – which was unusual for him. She was still uncertain what had him out of sorts. She saw that he kept glancing down one end of the table, where Sutton was sitting talking to Angela. Once his plate was clear, he pushed it aside. He loaded a couple pieces of bread and beef into his napkin, and folded up the edges.

"I'm going to go to jet," he whispered to Shego as he got up from the table.

The sun was beginning to set, causing the sky to blush a blistering orange. Several yards out in the field, the Daeva's silhouette stood out against the waning sun. The jet's stairway was lowered and Drakken cautiously ascended it.

Ronan was in the captain's chair, watching the large screen on the dash run a diagnostic test on the jet's hydraulic system. She had changed into a pair of ill-fitting jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. A steady stream of smoke was issuing from the tip of her lit cigarette. She didn't turn around when he entered the cabin, so Drakken assumed she hadn't heard him come up. He cleared his throat and said, "Hello."

Ronan barely glanced behind her and replied, "Yeah?"

Drakken took a few wary steps forward. "I thought you might be hungry," he said, holding out the food-filled napkin.

Ronan turned to look at his offering. She eyed the bulky napkin, then him.

"I'm not," she said, turning back to her monitor.

"Oh. Well," Drakken murmured, "you should eat something. You haven't had – "

"Don't put food on the console!" Ronan scolded as Drakken began to place the napkin on the dash in front of him.

"Sorry," he muttered, taking the co-pilot seat next to her. He set the napkin of food on the floor next to him.

As with the past few meetings between them, a couple minutes of silence passed. Ronan glared at the filling bar on the monitor and Drakken watched her, seeing the hollow of her injured cheek grow darker and the vein by her temple start to tick.

"What are you staring at?" Ronan snapped. Her cigarette wobbled dangerously at the corner of her mouth.

"I – er – just wanted to make sure you were okay. It's been a rough day for you," Drakken answered.

"I've had rougher."

Drakken's face grew soft, and he swallowed before saying, "I was . . . worried about you. Today."

That had been the chief thing on his mind. Once he heard Ronan was in an accident, his body and mind were flooded with a slew of surprising emotions. He had been fearful and concerned when Shego was at the mercy of Aviarius, but upon hearing Ronan was potentially hurt, his heart seized up and it felt like his rib cage was collapsing in on itself. It wasn't that he hadn't felt similar sensations when Shego was in trouble; the fact that Drakken had only known Ronan for a week is what threw him. Just a week, and he already fretted about her as much as anyone he had ever cared about. It was truly amazing. He hadn't been there for most – well, all of – her life, and now he was so sure that he wanted her to be a part of his. The concern he had felt for her was overwhelming, as was the relief knowing she was all right following the crash. Surely that meant something.

Ronan's upper lip briefly curled up and her nose wrinkled.

"Why?"

That caught Drakken off guard. "Well, because you were, you know, in a pretty significant accident."

"Pffft." Ronan turned back to the console as the hydraulic diagnostic finished up. She tapped a couple of buttons on the screen; simultaneously tapping off the accumulating ash from her cigarette in a tray she had placed on the arm of her chair. She once again creased her brow and pursed her lips tightly together as she enveloped herself in prepping the jet.

She had a difficult time understanding his motivation for coming here, to the jet. She wouldn't be ready to take off for at least another half-an-hour. Then there was the food. She didn't like the he brought it to her. She didn't like that he had sought her out. She didn't like that he had helped patch her up. She didn't like how he had tried to help her up in the GJ trailer.

She didn't like how Rooke knew that she had a blossoming – yet resistant – yearning to be his daughter. And what was unexpected (and terrifying) to her was that he seemed to feel the same way. That's why he brought her the food. That's why he had sought her out. That's why he had helped patch her up. That's why he tried to help her up in the GJ trailer. He _wanted _to be her Dad. Apparently.

At this revelation, Ronan's throat got tight and her ears started to grow warm. She had told Shego that she simply wanted to see if Drakken would be as disappointed in her as her mother was. She never mentioned needing an actual father figure. Needing? No_. _But . . . w_anting?_

Ronan tried pushing that thought from her mind as far as she could. She didn't need him; knowing who was and simply meeting him was enough. It should be, at any rate. She was still surprised that she had let Sutton in as deeply as she had over the years. Not that she regretted it. Not at all. She loved him. But the thought of allowing someone else in, in an equally prolific role, was horrifying.

What if she accidently pushed him away? What if he got hurt, or died? What if he decided a month from now, he was no longer keen on including her in the odd little life he would surely start with Shego? What then? Where would she be?

She was better off keeping him at an arm's length. As she did with most of her acquaintances.

Drakken frowned at the condescending noise she had uttered regarding his concern.

"You fell off a motorcycle going over one hundred miles per hour," he reminded. "You're lucky to be alive."

Ronan smiled to herself, cynically, and extinguished her cigarette.

"You got abducted by giant aliens," she said. "You're lucky to be alive. We've both been through some crazy dangerous shit. There's no reason to harp on it."

She had taken out another cigarette, took hold of it in her lips, and lit it. Her slender hands flew over buttons and switches in front of her, pressing and toggling in precise, rhythmic patterns.

Drakken chewed on his lower lip, trying to determine how to rope Ronan into a less stilted, more meaningful conversation.

He said: "So, you are pretty _good _friends with Sutton then?"

Ronan looked at him, cigarette in danger of falling out of her mouth. She paused for a moment, before getting up from her seat and stalking to the back of the jet, where Angela had sat earlier that day. She flopped herself in the seat and began reviewing oxygen levels of the on-board tanks.

Making his usual annoyed grumbling in the back of his throat, Drakken got up and followed her to the back of the jet. He leaned against the wall next to the back monitor bank, and crossed his arms.

"Dude!" Ronan cried, looking up at him. "What do you want?"

Her explosion took Drakken aback, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead to his hairline. She stared at him expectantly exasperated. Recovering himself, Drakken formed his face into a stern expression.

"Look," he started, "I'm just . . . trying to get to know you! I thought you wanted to get to know me, too. Why else would you wonder about my identity for so long?"

A deadly fire of annoyance and rage began to smoke in the pit of Ronan's stomach. Her eyebrows angled into sharp, angry lines, and her nails scraped along the metal surface of the table she was sitting at as her hands balled into fists.

"_Look, _Drakken – "

"Don't call me that," Drakken ordered. "I am your fath – "

"No!" Ronan shouted with such fervor that her cigarette fell from her mouth onto the floor. She crushed the smoldering stick with the toe of her shoe.

"No no no no no no no no no," she muttered in rapid sequence, getting up from her chair to face him.

"You are not that," she hissed. "Just because I wanted to know who are, does not mean I want to _know who you are. _You are merely the second half of my genetic material."

The monitor next to them made a delightful _ping_! noise, indicating that its tests were done. Ronan glanced over to the screen, and then brushed passed Drakken.

"You've missed out on far too much to consider yourself _that_," Ronan seethed as she headed for the Daeva's stairs. "Thanks for the chromosomes, though."

"That wasn't my fault!" Drakken yelled. "You've even said that! You're mother left me, without any regards as to her condition."

"Yeah, well, you coulda gone and looked for her," Ronan retorted before she descended the stairs. As she made her way down them, she called, "You might as well take a seat _Drakken. _We'll be ready to take off in a few."

As Ronan crossed the darkening field towards the cottage, a surprising lump began to form at the back of her throat. She had accomplished what she wanted to do; she built a very thick wall between her and her fath – Drakken. She didn't expect that she would feel great about, but she was taken aback by how upset she suddenly felt. Towards herself.

She was very good at making people not like her.

* * *

It was a little after four, and Margo and her company were having a late tea. The day started out wrought with tension and worry for the parents. At least the Possibles and Stoppables had each other. Karen was left alone, no one to hold to but Turtle.

In an attempt to take the visitor's minds off the mission their children were on, Margo arranged a couple of cars to take them all to a secluded beach near the Manor's property. Once the youngest children were up and fed, they all piled into two waiting Rolls-Royce town cars and cruised to the salty shoreline.

The temperature was still a tad on the cool side for any serious swimming time, but Jim and Tim had just as much fun inspecting the beach's tide pools. Mrs. Stoppable carried Hana into the water, and playfully dipped her daughter's toes in and out of the surf. Karen sat on the sand watching the families wantonly.

"Do you not like the beach, Ms. Anderson?" Margo asked, flipping open a cloth beach chair and sitting down.

"Oh no," Karen answered. "It's beautiful." She stared out at the steely grey expanse in front of her.

"Mmm. I've always preferred the coastline," Margo admitted. "Although, I pretty much prefer anything next to the Mid-West. Dull," she finished, with a cluck of her tongue.

"You grew up there?"

Margo nodded, "Go City, Illinois."

"Oh. I've been to Chicago," Karen said. "But not Go City."

Margo shrugged and said, "It's nice enough. But it lacks a certain aesthetic appeal." She ran her fingers lazily through a patch of dune grass next to her.

Karen nodded ever so slightly and turned her attention back to the water.

"It's good to have finally met you," Margo said suddenly. Karen looked back at her. "Ronan has mentioned you several times."

A small, sardonic smile appeared on Karen's face. "Uh-oh. That can't be good."

"No not at all," Margo admonished, her waving away Karen's predetermined fear. There was a beat before Margo admitted, "I have more or less been Ronan's psychiatrist since she started working for my husband and I. Although, I know _she _would never permit anyone to call me that; her psychiatrist. If she were to tell it, she would probably call me her confidante. Or a bitch, depending on her mood," Margo said with a wry smile. "It took awhile, but I was finally able to crack through her shell."

Karen looked at her, skeptically. "And what did you find?"

"That she's a very damaged and insecure young woman."

Karen felt a flush in her cheeks as Margo said 'damaged'. As if sensing her uneasiness, Margo clarified, "Now, when I say damaged, it in no way reflects you or your parenting tactics. Ronan's damage is of her own doing. There are very few people she hates more than herself.

"That being said," Margo continued, "I want you to know that Ronan is not an anti-social person in the psychotic or sociopathic sense. She was misdiagnosed when she was young. To be a true psychopath, one must display and feel a total lack of empathy and guilt. Psychopaths also have very shallow emotions – particularly, reduced fear."

"I'm not a doctor, Dr. Gordon, but that sounds a lot like my daughter," Karen said sadly.

"I know it does," Margo affirmed. "But psychopaths do not 'put on' these mannerisms; Ronan does. She is perfectly capable of having healthy, long-lasting, genuine relationships. She has had them with us over the past four years. Specifically Sutton. She would do anything for us. Anything for you. That's why she works here."

"If that's the case, why does she hide it? Why is our relationship so shitty?" Karen demanded.

"I don't know," Margo said blandly. "That is the mystery of the mind. Finding the motivation for one's actions is one of the most elusive answers one can seek. For whatever reason, Ronan decided very early on to be alone and truculent. I believe that her anger and hate is not a way for her to combat the world. Instead it is a way for her to protect herself from it."

Karen listened carefully to Margo and then looked down at the sand, running her fingers through it. It made sense, she supposed.

"I wish I had an answer as to 'why', but I doubt even Ronan herself could tell you. At any rate, I believe that her tough exterior is beginning to wear down. Sutton has certainly helped her realize that she doesn't need to keep everyone at arm's length. And the fact that she was so hell bent on finding out who her father was further displays her internal want for solid relationships. Someone with a genuine lack of empathy would not be so . . . obsessive isn't technical the right word," Margo chortled, "but it is descriptive enough. She's not to the point of admitting it, but she's beginning to succumb to her need of other people."

Margo smiled encouragingly at Karen. Karen returned it with a smile that was slightly pained, nowhere near full. She hoped Margo was right.

After spending several hours at the beach, the group headed back to the Manor for tea. And that was when the main house phone rang. Ms. Walsh bustled from the kitchen and down the hall to the parlor. She picked up the headset and was surprised to hear Rooke's voice on the other end. He asked her to fetch Margo, and she complied.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Ma'am," Ms. Walsh said, as she stepped out onto the patio.

"It's nothing to be sorry about," Margo said kindly. She had been in the middle of talking to Mrs. Dr. Possible about a recent medical journal regarding the anatomy of the pons and its possible relationship to insomnia.

"Mr. Rooke is on the phone."

Margo's face flickered with surprise, but she excused herself and got up, following Ms. Walsh back into the Manor.

"Hello, Atlas," Margo sighed into the headset.

"Afternoon, my love," Rooke greeted. He then proceeded to explain the days events and that they had been summoned to Washington D.C. to meet with the President of the United States.

"Well that's unexpected," Margo responded. "I didn't think we'd have any need to go the States at all."

"Nor I."

"How is Ronan?"

"She's fine," Rooke said. "Banged up, but the thing that's really hurt is her pride, I think."

"I see," Margo replied. "Are you leaving right from Belarus, then?"

"Yes. I didn't see the sense in coming back to Mullion's Cove, only to leave right away."

"Absolutely. When will Ronan have the Daeva ready?"

"Should be soon."

Margo nodded, even though Rooke couldn't see her. "Very well. I will arrange a plane for us to meet you there."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Rooke quibbled.

"I know it's not necessary," she agreed. "But these families will want to see their children. I know I do."

There was a pause, and Rooke said, "Certainly, my dear."

She could hear the smile in his voice and it made her grin herself. "I will see you soon. I love you."

* * *

Crushed metatarsals, shattered fibula and tibula, splintered femur, and a pelvis that was cracked in two places. That was the run down of Vrishkov's internal injuries once he and J.R. got back to Sardinia. Cutting called in a doctor-friend to look at him. Exterior injuries included several deep cuts and scrapes, but nothing as traumatic as his broken bones.

Vrishkov was moved to a cushy guest room in Cutting's mansion, and was pumped full of morphine by the stocky doctor. The cuts that needed to be stitched up were, and his afflicted leg was cased in plaster.

"Well?" Cutting asked expectantly, waiting by the door.

The doctor finished putting his supplies in his large bag and said, "He will need lots of rest and care."

"Mm-hmm," Cutting hummed, as though he was bored.

"It would be advised to hire a live-in nurse," the doctor explained. "I can give you references."

"You may leave them with Robert at the gate," Cutting said formly. "How long will he be incapicatated?"

"It is difficult to say. It is not uncommon for a man of his age to decline quickly after breaking a hip."

Cutting wrinkled his nose, eying the old man in the bed.

"Thank you," he said as a way of letting the doctor know he was no longer needed. However, the doctor continued to stand in front him, an expectant look on his face. His porky hands twitch at his side.

"Payment?" he asked cautiously.

"Of course. How silly of me," Cutting said with a slight cackle. "Robert at the gate has the money for you. You give him those nurse references and he'll give you the cash."

The doctor perked up, bid Cutting adieu, and heading towards the nearest stairway.

"Robert's gonna pay him?" J.R. asked snidely. He had been leaning against the wall just outside of Vrishkov's room, listening to the discussion.

"Of course not," Cutting said matter-of-factly. He turned on his heel and left the room. As he strode down the hall, he could hear J.R. shuffling behind him.

"How are you J.R.?" Cutting asked over his shoulder. "Anything need to be mended?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Good. Good. It's nice to have someone competent enough not to get crushed by buildings."

The two men entered an airy sunroom that was lit with the dying rays of that days sun. Cutting walked over to a square captains chair and sat down. He began shuffling through a series of papers he had on the round coffee table in front of him. He apparently had a difficult time seeing the paper's information, because he reached up and pulled the short chain of the lamp next to him. The light popped to life, sufficiently lighting the papers in front of him.

"Is there something I can help you with, J.R.?" Cutting asked after a moment. The other man continued to stand awkwardly just beyond the sunroom's doorway.

J.R. took a step forward and said, "I just wanted to know if you were satisfied with today's test."

Cutting set down the papers and looked up at him. "Of course I am! That little box is going to do perfectly. Where is it anyway?"

"I locked it your desk safe."

"Good man," Cutting said with a grin. Suddenly there was a distant _pop_ outside; the doctor receiving his payment. Cutting listened to the echo of the sound wistfully, before turning his attention back to the papers in front of him.

"So, what now?" J.R. asked, taking another step forward.

"Hmm? I'm sorry?" Cutting asked, not hearing him.

"What's our next move?"

"Well," Cutting began, "there's been a recent development that I wouldn't mind investigating further before continuing with my plan."

"What development?" J.R. asked, puzzled. What could be so interesting that it deterred Cutting from his plans of global cleansing?

"Don't fret so much, J.R." Cutting scolded. "Anya has simply brought to my attention that there are possibly even more useful intergalactic tools that we can use in our conquest."

Cutting handed J.R. the piece of paper he had been skimming over. Taking it, J.R. realized that it was an old newspaper article from the early1990s. Its title read:

**Comet Strikes Go City Suburb; Five Children Hospitalized**

Confused, J.R. asked: "What's this?"

"It's something I believe bears looking into," Cutting answered, sitting back in his chair. "You and I leave for Go City tomorrow."

* * *

**A/N: **I just want to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! You guys are awesome :)

Poor Dr. D . . . . he keeps suffering verbal abuse from all the women around him, it seems.

For those of you who are interested, I recently posted a series of character reference drawings on my Deviant Art page. The link is in my profile, if anyone would like to take a look.

Thank you for reading this installment! Please leave a review!


	13. Mr Rooke Goes to Washington

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay everyone!*Inserttheusualsuperbusyexcus ehere* Originally, this chapter was going to be much longer, but I once again split it into chapters 13 and 14; I'm still working on 14.

Please R&R! PLEASE! :)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, or any related characters/locations. I do own the Syndicate and Leiriakkesh (fictional province)**

* * *

The flight to Washington D.C. for the Daeva's passengers was mainly dominated by sleep. It had been a long, eventful day, and it was not yet over. No one saw the point in spending the flight discussing what the United States government wanted with them. That, and, it was seven in the evening by the time they left the ground. Kim knew that meant that it was about noon along the eastern coast of the States. Sighing internally, she sat back in her seat, dreading the severe jet lag she would experience.

Ron and Rufus were groaning quietly next to her. Both had eaten too much and too fast at Ivan's cottage.

"Ugh, belly-flips," Ron moaned, as jet reached its final cruising speed. His head lulled over to Kim's shoulder.

"I told you not to eat so quickly," Kim scolded.

Ron whimpered. After a moment of trying to get comfortable, he unbuckled himself and pulled his legs up into his chest. Kim patted his knee comfortingly, looking to the front of the jet, where Ronan and Sutton had once again taken up the pilot and co-pilot seats.

When Ronan had entered the cottage to tell the group that the Daeva was ready for take off, there was something different about her. The darkness that usually clouded her had seemingly shifted from that of perpetual anger and annoyance to a mood of crushing and bleak dysphoria. Not that Ronan let on to this shift, but Sutton could tell the moment she entered the kitchen that something was wrong.

And so, the group thanked Ivan, his wife, and Igor and left. Drakken was already on board, sitting in the same seat he had used previously. Shego sat down next to him and immediately knew something was up. As Ronan deftly lifted the Daeva into the air, Shego tried to goad the reason behind his sour mood out of him. Drakken didn't budge, and whispered to Shego that he didn't feel like discussing it at that time and that he just wanted to get some sleep before arriving in Washington D.C. Shego was annoyed, but she complied. Having lived in close quarters with the man for the last five years, she grown able to discern when Drakken was serious about keeping his mouth shut and when he just needed a little nudging before he would spill the beans. Folding her arms across her chest, Shego leaned back into her chair and shut her eyes.

Kim wasn't sure when she had done it, but she had fallen asleep. When she awoke, she was confused; she didn't remember falling asleep and she was dazed and groggy, which usually meant she had fallen asleep long enough to enter a REM cycle. Slowly, she became aware of what had woken her: Ronan and Sutton speaking in hushed voices.

Kim didn't know exactly why, but she tried not to draw much attention to herself so that she could listen to the couple's conversation. The rest of the jet's passenger's appeared to be asleep; further evidence that Kim had been sleeping for at least an hour.

"Why did you do that?" Sutton whispered.

"I don't know."

"Bull shit, Ronan."

Kim heard the light twisting sound of Ronan clenching her fingers around the jet's throttle. She didn't respond.

"Do you think it will be easier this way?"

Silence.

"Margo won't let you off that easily. Neither will I. And neither will he, if he's as adamant about knowing you as you are him."

"But I know him. I got what I wanted. I know that Drakken's my . . . father," Ronan whispered, grumbling over the words. "I don't need anymore than that. I'm good. Once this is all over with he and I can go back to our lives and ignore each other's existence."

"You're insane."

"Excuse me?"

Ronan spoke louder than she probably meant to. The sudden snap of volume made Kim jump slightly, and she peeked over her shoulder. Ronan was staring at Sutton, her eyes wide and nostrils flared. Sutton looked back at her sternly and unapologetic.

After a minute of staring at each other, Ronan clucked her tongue and turned in her seat, grabbing the throttle once more.

"You're irritating," she grumbled.

"And you're utterly anhedonic. What's the worst that could happen if you got to actually know him? He ends up disappointing you? He ends up leaving?"

Ronan didn't say anything.

"So what?" Sutton asked. "You're back to not having a father present in your life. That's the way you've lived for the past twenty-two, almost twenty-three years, of you're life. Yes, it sucks. But at least then you will know that you tried to have a relationship with him. You won't have those stupid 'What-ifs?' plaguing you. What've you got to lose?"

"My dignity," she said wryly.

"Ronan, be serious."

She shook her head vaguely before speaking; Kim was amazed at how the tone of Ronan's voice shifted from her usual gravelly impatience to one that was meek and detached sounding.

"What if something happens?"

Kim heard Sutton sigh.

"Sometimes things happen. You know that. We all do. My mom and dad died before I really knew them. Derek knew them better than I ever did or ever will. And despite the probability of them dying in their line of work, he didn't hesitate to get close to him – "

"That's different."

"In what way?"

After a moment, Ronan said, "It just is."

"Oh. Convincing."

There was a long silence after that. Kim stole a quick glance over her shoulder again. She saw that Sutton had reached over, placing his head at the base of Ronan's neck and was rubbing it affectionately.

"I didn't just mean death or an accident," Ronan admitted quietly. It took Sutton a moment, but he seemed to grasp her meaning.

"You let the Syndicate in. You let me in. You can do it again. If you don't at least try to know him, and let him know you – the _real _you – you'll regret it. You know you will."

Ronan shook her head softly in his hand. "I don't want to."

"Ro."

"I can't," Ronan whispered firmly. "I am grateful that I found you and the Syndicate. But I cannot stand the thought of being a disappointment to someone else. My mother and grandmother are enough. Thank you. I have all the ties I want or need."

"That's a lie," Sutton reminded, smugly. "But I'm flattered that you think all you need is me."

"Is that what you got from my little confessional?"

Kim could hear the smile in Ronan's voice.

"Promise me you'll talk to him. Again. More nicely."

"No."

Sutton made a grumbling, exasperated sigh, "Ronan, do not let your mother's mistake dictate the rest of your life."

Another brief moment passed as the seriousness and discomfort of the conversation dissipated.

Sutton's hand returned to the spot on Ronan's neck and he said, "I'm glad you're okay. I love you."

Ronan looked at him, her hand holding onto his wrist fondly. She lifted herself off her seat and leaned in to kiss him. Kim felt a flush of warmth fill her face as she saw the pair lock lips. They were under the impression that their conservation and actions had been private, and Kim felt a little awkward that she had been peeping at the two.

She adjusted herself in her seat, shifting Ron's head so that he would no longer be cramping her shoulder. As she deftly lifted and moved her boyfriend's head, something across from her caught her eye. She looked over at the seat on the other side of the jet, and noticed that Drakken was also awake. He was indolently staring at the Daeva's floor. For the first time Kim could recall, he looked utterly aged and defeated. Despite her dislike of the scientist, she couldn't deny that he always appeared – physically and emotionally – younger than her parents, who were the same age as him. Now, in the dim light of the cabin, he appeared weary and tired.

How long had he been up? What had he heard?

Sensing her eyes on him, Drakken looked up from the floor to Kim. Her breath caught in her chest for moment at the absolutely pitiful sight he was; like a puppy who just got rapped in the nose with a rolled up magazine. Unsure of what to do, Kim went back to trying to get herself comfortable again. She laid her cheek against Ron's head and tried to fall back asleep.

Drakken had been up for awhile. He was still having trouble shaking the image of Ronan lying, broken, across the table in the GJ medical van. He was also still stinging from the verbal lashing Ronan had given him earlier. She didn't want to get to know him. Or she did, and she just wouldn't let herself . . . for whatever reason. Either way, the fact that she had yelled at him and denounced him as her father hurt in a way he had never felt before. He didn't understand why she would be so irate with him, and he found it just as upsetting as hearing she was physically injured.

For the past few minutes, he had half listened to Ronan and Sutton's conversation and had half watched Kim listening to them. He saw the teen in a different light then: she was a daughter. James' daughter. He wondered what it had been like for James to spend the last seventeen or eighteen years as a father. What was that like? To actually rise a child? To hear their first words, watch their first steps, teach them to ride a bike, to go to those stupid, inane kindergarten 'graduations', to watch them grow up right before your eyes? He would never know. He would never know because Karen had taken that away from him. Despite the overwhelming sadness his body was wrapped in, he felt a small ball of hot anger begin to form in his stomach. When Karen had initially told him about Ronan a little over a week ago, he had been angry. But it was a preliminary anger; an emotion that he was obligated to have upon hearing that a massive secret had been kept from him for almost twenty-three years. Now, in the wake of Ronan's vilification, a stronger and more solid rage was building inside him. If Karen had just worked up the guts to tell him sooner, perhaps Ronan would not be so objective towards. It was her fault, and Drakken intended on making Karen pay. Somehow.

* * *

As with the trip from Mullion's Cove to Belarus, the flight from Belarus to Washington D.C. was also accelerated. A commercial trip between the two regions would've easily taken at least eight hours, even longer if there were layovers in one city or another. In the Syndicate's abnormally fast jet, however, the flight took a mere six hours before it began descending.

Understandably, so as to not cause a scene, they landed just outside D.C.'s metropolitan area. Had Shego and Drakken been conscious at the time, they would've recognized the small airbase as the one that Derek and J.P. had taken them to not a week earlier.

"Evening Pete," Rooke said, exiting the jet and walking towards a gentleman on the tarmac.

"Hey there Stephen."

Pete stretched out a hand, which Rooke wearily took. The rest of the group slowly staggered from the Daeva, each of them dazed with some degree of jet lag. Ronan and Sutton were the last out of the jet. The six hours of sitting did not agree with Ronan's plethora of injuries; she hobbled stiff-legged down the stairs towards the rest of the group, Sutton attentively hovering at her side.

"I had two SUVs ready to take you to the White House," Pete explained. "Then those showed up."

He pointed across the pavement to a small cinder block building. Parked next to it, there were two unmarked black SUVs. Next to those vehicles, there were two other, slightly larger SUVs. Even from where they were, Rooke could see the outline of red and blue light boxes through the windshield. There were also small American flags stuck to the outside of the doors. He sighed. Clearly, Betty had alerted the American government to their pick-up location. He supposed she meant no real harm by it, but by divulging one of the Syndicate's docking locals to a major government she had defeated the purpose of them being a secret, unaffiliated program.

"Thank you for setting up the rides," Rooke said. "But given that the government sent their own transportation, we'll humor them and let them take us to the White House. I also want to thank you for years of faithful service."

Pete looked confused. "What're you talking about?"

Rooke looked over Pete's shoulder at his group. "Clear it."

At once, the Syndicate members broke apart from the group and headed towards the cinder block building, from which the airbase conducted its business.

"Listen to me very carefully, Peter," Rooke said. "We were never here. You don't know a thing about us. You've never heard of the Syndicate, or any of its members. I will wire you our last bill at the end of the month. There will also be a shipment of new computer and filing equipment arriving to this address at the end of the week. Those two things should be more than enough for you to start over again. We will return later this evening to retrieve the Daeva, and that will be the last time you see us. Understand?"

Before Pete could answer, there were a great many of smashing and shattering sounds from the small building. The one door opened and a shocked looking woman stumbled out of the building, Angie kindly 'shoo-ing' her away. Once the woman was clear of the doorway, Angie shut it again. Bewildered, the woman turned to look at Pete; she was still wearing the bulky headset she used to communicate with incoming aircraft.

After a minute, the Syndicate began to trail out of the building, all looking rather pleased; but none more so than Angie, who was carrying a large cardboard box of hard drives and other miscellaneous computer parts. Rooke held out his hand to Pete, who slowly took it.

"It's been nice doing business with you, friend."

Mid-shake, Rooke pulled Pete in and whispered something in his ear that made his hair stand on end.

"If you tell anyone about any of my agents or my wife, much less our affiliation, I will kill you."

Rooke gave him and warm smile and broke the handshake.

"We'll be taking the government rides," he told the group, and started for the farther two SUVs.

* * *

It was the third year of Harrison Heath's first term as president of the United States of America. Thus far, he felt he had done a decent job. He represented the Republican Party, but he was not nearly as right wing as some of his fellow party-members; a fact that had political experts and poll-ers skeptical on whether or not he would be been able to win the presidency during the 2004 race. However, despite the doubt, he managed to snag the Office. It had been a very, very close race between him and his Democratic opponent, Senator David Pierce. But he tried not to think about that.

President Heath hailed from a small town outside of Houston, Texas. He lived with his Momma, Daddy, and Granddaddy on the family ranch. His Granddaddy was the town's mayor, and his Daddy was his campaign manager. Needless to say, Harrison followed in his those footsteps, and took up the family business of politics. He excelled in school and went on the study Political Science and Law at Stanford University. After four years of undergraduate studies, he furthered his education by continuing on to graduate school, obtaining his Masters.

After he deemed his education complete, Harrison went on to essentially take over his Granddaddy's role of town mayor. Not too soon after, he became mayor of Houston, then governor of Texas. After that feat, he was finally ready to take a stab at 'Big-Boy' politics in the nation's capitol. He had been a senator for a couple of years before he decided to run for the presidency.

And now, here he was: sitting pretty in his third year in office. Doug Petterson (R) as his right-hand VP, Matilda Cophurk (R) as Secretary of State, Max Meyers (R) as Secretary of Defense, and Joseph Randall (R) acted as the Secretary of Homeland Security – just to name a few members of his cabinet. There were, of course, more 'un-official' people he dealt with on a regular basis: Dr. Betty Director of Global Justice and Josef Bur-Whazahm, Secretary-General of the United Nations, for example.

Currently in his Oval Office, all of the above mentioned were present – except Director. However, it wasn't long before she was escorted into the office, flanked by two Secret Service Agents.

"Mr. President," she said, taking hold of his hand. "It is good to see you. An honor, as always."

He smiled at her. He had always liked Director. She was a strong, levelheaded woman.

"Good to see you to Betty."

Director made the rounds, greeting everyone in the room.

"How's Chernobyl?" asked Petterson.

"Honestly, it's non-existent. It'll take months to clear the rubble, but even that might be a fruitless activity. I'm not sure it's in the Ukraine's best interest to try and resurrect a city that has been lost for twenty-one years."

"I will be flying to New York City once this meeting is over to discuss it with the rest of the U.N's board," Bur-Whazahm said, almost warningly.

"Of course," Director conceded.

"Do you have any idea how it happened or who is behind it, Dr. Director?" Heath asked, leaning over his desk.

"There is an idea," she admitted slowly.

Heath squinted at her hesitation.

"Well," started Max Meyers, "who, or _what, _took out an entire city? And for what purpose?"

Director fixed him with her one dark brown eye. Before she could answer, the phone on President Heath's desk buzzed. He pressed the intercom button.

"Yes?"

"Mr. President," came a female's voice, "Agent Smith has returned from Hoolock airbase with . . ."

There was a pause and rustling of papers.

"A Mr. Stephen Rooke and his . . . team."

Heath looked up at Director, "These were the people you mentioned earlier today?"

She nodded.

"Send them in."

As they patiently waited for the new arrivals, Cophurk spoke up.

"Who are these people, Dr. Director? Why haven't we heard of them before?"

Before Director could try and explain, the door at the far end of the Oval Office opened, and Rooke, Kim, Ron, Drakken, Shego, Will and Minka spilled in.

"Mr. President, so good to see you again," Will exclaimed, stepping forward and vigorously shaking Heath's hand.

"You as well, Agent Du," Heath chuckled, amused at Will's excitement. After breaking the shake, he glanced over Will's shoulder at Minka. "You must be Agent Carlisle. Betty has told me many good things about you."

Minka smiled sheepishly and shook hands with the President as well, before her eyes flickered gratefully over to Director.

"It is nice to see you again, Dr. Drakken and Miss Shego," Bur-Whazahm said, getting up from his chair and nodding at the both of them. He had, of course, been present at the award ceremony a week ago. "I must admit, I was not anticipating seeing either one of you again so soon. We were wondering what happened to you both after the ceremony."

"What can we say?" Shego coolly said with a shrug. "We love drama."

Heath rounded his desk and came to stand in front of the group. He approached Kim and Ron first.

"It's nice to have finally met you Miss Possible, Mr. Stoppable," he entreated, dipping his head a little. "I'm sorry it hasn't happened before now. We have so much to thank you both for."

Shego rolled her eyes and Drakken grumbled something.

"It's no big," Kim self-consciously giggled.

Ron emphatically took the President's hand, shaking it. Rufus leapt from the pocket of Ron's vest onto his hand, bowing. Heath laughed out-rightly, before finally turning his attention to Rooke.

"Oh yes," Director said, stepping forward. "Mr. President, this is Mr. Stephen Rooke; the gentleman we spoke of earlier."

The two men took each other's hand in a cool, uncertain shake. Rooke looked at the President with unconcerned thoughtfulness, and Heath eyed him with kind – but scrutinizing – diplomacy.

"Betty tells me that you have special insight concerning the disaster at Chernobyl."

Rooke nodded. "I do."

"First thing's first," Randall said, stepping forward. "Is this a threat that the United States should be immediately concerned by?"

Bur-Whazahm turned, looking at the Secretary of Defense searchingly.

"We must know if we need to protect ourselves before we go about protecting others," Randall explained. Behind him, Meyers nodded his head knowingly.

"Of course," Rooke stated simply. It took the government officials a moment to realize that Rooke was not acknowledging Randall's concern; rather he was confirming that the United States was in great potential danger.

"What do you know about it?"

Rooke sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting his weight from his left foot to his right.

"Would you like to have a seat, Mr. Rooke?" asked Cophurk, scooting over on one of the office's couches.

"No, no. Thank you, though. I've been sitting for the past six or so hours. It feels good to stand."

"So," Heath started, "who or what is behind the attack on Chernobyl? Al Qaeda? The Black Hands? The IRA?"

"None of the above. The group responsible for Chernobyl's destruction flies much farther under the radar. And, as such, they are much more difficult to smoke out and deal with."

"Well?" Petterson snapped.

"The affiliation responsible for the disaster at Chernobyl is known as The Black Rabbits. They are headed by a gentleman known as Lucas Cutting."

A series of soft, snide snickers fluttered around the room.

"Rabbits? Really?" scoffed Randall. "Couldn't they have picked a more ferocious animal? I mean, other than the rabbit in Monty Python, rabbits – "

"It's a perversion of the Celtic word _Raibead_," Rooke snapped. "It means: man to be feared."

An awkward silence hung in the air before Heath started the discussion up again.

"So, Mr. Rooke, what do you advise we do? You seem to have the upper hand, as far as information goes."

Rooke looked at Director, then back at the President.

"I don't know what Betty has told you about my group, President Heath, but we have never worked alongside a large organization or a government of any kind."

"Where is your group?" Petterson asked suspiciously.

"In the office outside this one. I didn't think we needed to crowd this room anymore. Besides, my wife and a few more guests should be arriving momentarily."

"How many up your group?" Cophurk asked.

"Five, plus my wife and I."

"Seven? Seven people make up your mighty force?"

"We're small, but we get results."

"What is it you do Mr. Rooke?" Heath asked. "Exactly?"

Rooke's eyebrow's lifted mischievously and Director felt her gut clench as she prepared for the insulting blow.

"We finish your jobs and we take care of those you don't bother to deal with."

"Excuse me?" Petterson spat after a moment of letting the jab sink in.

"Check yourself, Mr. Rooke," Heath warned. "We all want the same thing here: to protect people from Cutting and his Black Rabbits – "

"No," Rooke interjected. "What you want is control of the situation. To have control is to have the upper hand, and that is something Cutting will not let anyone else have."

"We might be a step behind," Cophurk conceded. "But we have the strongest army on the planet, with Global Justice at our side. I am sure we can easily catch up and pass Cutting before he demolishes another city."

"You are several steps behind, Madame Secretary," Rooke informed. "I know enough about Lucas Cutting to know that he has meticulously thought out every step and possible misstep of his plan. And as for your army against his . . . "

Rooke broke off, his grey eyes darkening and glittering. He looked over at Director, who was bristling under his flagrant disrespect of the leaders in front of him. She hadn't yet told Bur-Whazahm, Randall, or Meyers about the mole that had infiltrated Global Justice; she was convinced that it was an issue that could be handle within the confines of her organization. There was no need to worry her nation's leaders. She tilted her head and eyed Rooke with a warning glare. She did not need him tattling on her. Rooke pursed his lips and drew his attention back to Heath.

"I am afraid, Mr. President," he continued, "that your tactics are not suited for dealing with this situation. Nor is Global Justice qualified."

"And you are?" Heath asked flatly.

Rooke smirked. "I have previous experience with Cutting and the way he operates."

Kim was shifting uncomfortably in her seat next to Cophurk. She was embarrassed that her first meeting with the President of the United States was this one: a meeting where she was surely associated with Rooke, a man who was being passive aggressively rude and belittling. She shuddered at how she must look to the political figures in front of her.

"I am sure you are aware, Mr. Rooke," Petterson said, "that the United States of America does not negotiate with terrorists."

"I am aware."

"Nor do we get involved with those associated with them."

Rooke grimaced. "My team and I are not associated with the Black Rabbits. Far from it."

"Well, so far, Mr. Rooke," Petterson said angrily, "you have not been able to convince me otherwise. From where I'm standing, you seem to be little better than that. The only thing you have going for you are your ties with Global Justice."

"Calm down, Doug," Heath murmured before speaking to Rooke. "Surely you can understand, Mr. Rooke, that your hesitance to share information is not helping your cause."

"I am not looking for my cause to be helped, Mr. President. I am merely here on your invitation."

Heath raised an eyebrow and paused before deviating the conversation slightly. He turned to Kim.

"How are you and Mr. Stoppable wound up in all of this? Did Dr. Director seek out your assistance?"

Kim made a face. "Kinda. She initially asked us to help find Dr. Vrishkov. Then we met two of Rooke's agents. They said that Cutting was after me and Ron."

"Us, too," Shego added, gesturing to herself and Drakken.

"What does he want with you? Specifically?" Heath asked.

"He wants them for the same reason he kidnapped Vrishkov," Rooke said plainly. "To use them and their experience with Lorwardian Technology against the world. However, it seems as though he has found a way to do that without their help."

"Do you mean to tell me that you've known who took Dr. Vrishkov and did not bother to inform me?" Bur-Whazahm said to the room. His eyes fell on Director, who did not flinch.

"Josef, you know I have a special ops team dedicated to the very purpose of locating Dr. Vrishkov. We just had not been successful in locating him."

"But you knew that Lucas Cutting arranged his kidnapping?"

Director pursed her lips. "I wasn't sure until recently."

"He was at Chernobyl," Kim butted in. She could see that Director was on the verge of getting flustered, and she did not want to see her dig herself into a hole. So far, even Kim had to admit, that Rooke was making Global Justice look incompetent.

"Ronan and I found him in the pit," she continued to explain.

"Who?" Bur-Whazahm demanded.

"Oh. Sorry. Ronan is one of Rooke's . . . agents," Kim's eyes flickered across Rooke and Drakken's faces before returning to the UN's leader. "He was down there with one of the . . . Rabbits." She was still not used to referring to Cutting's agents. The moniker seemed stupid.

"What happened? Why weren't you able to apprehend them?"

Kim faltered for a moment before Minka cut in.

"Ronan made a hasty, irrational decision to chase them down on her own and they got away."

Kim gave Minka a meek, thankful smile, while Drakken glowered at the agent.

"It wasn't her fault!" he said. "If you knew how to steer that vehicle of yours, she would've apprehended the Rabbit, saved Vrishkov, and been spared numerous injuries."

"I respectfully disagree, Doctor," Minka growled through gritted teeth.

"Okay. Everyone just calm down," Heath interrupted, holding his hand up. He took a breath. "Mr. Rooke, while I do not know of you or your team, and while this meeting has proven fruitless to say the least, I believe we want pretty much the same thing: to stop Cutting. For you, that appears to mean doing 'your job'. For us, that means restoring security to our country and provinces, and getting back one of our government's most valued personnel. Will you please work with us?"

Petterson and Randall shot aghast looks at the President, while Rooke considered.

"No," Rooke finally stated. "I will certainly not work against you, Mr. President; in whatever plan of action you decide to take. But I will not work with you."

"Stephen," Director began.

"Betty," Rooke retorted firmly. "Do not question my decision. Do not make me change my mind."

"Stephen," Director repeated, "this is much bigger than either one of our organizations. You cannot do this alone! Dammit Rooke! Do not let one failed province speak for all forms of government."

"Leiriakkesh failed because your help was inadequate!" Rooke roared, his eyes travelling between Director and Bur-Whazahm. "And guess who's running it now."

Kim sat, stunned, unsure of what was exactly going on. At some point, the discussion on what to do about Cutting had a whole new layer added to it. Kim had never heard of Leiriakkesh; she assumed it was, or had been, a country. And now, it appeared, that Cutting was running it?

"Mr. Rooke," Bur-Whazahm said, "I don't know what your involvement Leirian Revolution was, but that province was lost to the world a long time ago. They are no longer a part of the United Nations, and I seriously doubt that Cutting is in any way a leader there; Leiriakkesh fell into anarchy."

Rooke smiled cynically and shook his head. "Were you not listening earlier when I said that Cutting flies so low under the radar that he is absolutely imperceptible? Of course he is not out-rightly the Lierites leader, but when the Leiriakkesh seceded itself from Tajikistan, he was the person funding the revolutionaries. Ergo, the 'anarchists' are loyal to him. Ergo, he is the leader of Leiriakkesh."

"That sounds a lot like some crack-pot conspiracy theory," Bur-Whazahm replied.

"It doesn't matter what it sounds like to you," Rooke said. "Because you abandoned the Lierites, Cutting has even more power there. It has gave him the confidence to start planting Leirite spies elsewhere," he eyed Betty. "However, he doesn't just have his hands in the Leiriakkesh province. He funds and gives orders to several other terrorist organizations; the Leirite Anarchists are just his base. Now, with Dr. Vrishkov and Lorwardian technology at his disposal as well, he's gathering steam."

"Why is that name familiar?" Shego muttered, furrowing her brow and tapping her fingers on her chin. Kim, Ron, and Drakken looked at her, all puzzled. She had spoken quietly, but Rooke heard her all the same.

"Your mother is from Leiriakkesh," he explained. "She and a ten other children were the only ones to be evacuated in 1966; a year before any serious fighting broke out."

Shego stared at him, wide-eyed. She kept her fingertips on her chin as she glanced over at Drakken.

Rooke, who had grown progressively flushed in the face, quieted down. He was apparently done making his argument against teaming up with Global Justice or the American government. Even though he had left several loose ties in his story, he didn't seem to care. What he was doing made sense to him, and that's all that mattered.

A few silent seconds passed before the phone on his desk began to buzz. Tiredly, Heath lifted the headset to his ear.

"Yes?"

The person on the other end relayed a brief message to him before Heath laid the phone back in its cradle.

"It seems that your wife and other guests are at the front gate, Mr. Rooke."

* * *

**A/N: **A little abrupt and perhaps random, but it's all intentional and will become VERY important to the for reading! Please leave a review on the way on the way out! I will attempt to start updating more regularly. I'm hoping to finish this first book before the Fall semester begins. Uh-oh . . . did I say FIRST book? :-) You bet I did . . .


	14. Building Bridges

A/N: Chapter 14 is here! Right now, I'm thinking this installment has two more chapters to get through before it's done :) Please review! I'm a feedback junkie, and momma needs a fix!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any Kim Possible characters/locations. I do own the Syndicate, Miriam Gordon, and any other characters not affiliated with Kim Possible. Except Batman. I don't own the Batman.

* * *

While Rooke, Kim, Ron, Drakken, and Shego were in the Oval Office, the rest of the Syndicate sat in the room just beyond the secret doorways that led the President's mainstay. The acting secretary sat behind her desk looking entirely uncomfortable. She did her best to remain busy, but she couldn't help glancing over worriedly at the rough-and-tumble group that had piled into her office not an hour before. She knew she had nothing to worry about, though. There were Secret Service agents stationed outside and within the office. If any of these newcomers tried any funny business, they could be handled with easily. She hoped. Thankfully, the newcomers did not seem to pay her any mind at all.

Once they were all in the room, they went about making themselves comfortable in their chairs. The smallest of the group – a young girl covered in tattoos and piercings – was the only one who kept busy. For whatever reason, Secret Service had seen fit to allow her to keep her own small lap computer. She worked diligently, the secretary envying how quickly and effortlessly her petite fingers flew across her keyboard. Her black eyebrows were furrowed and creased as she stared at the screen. The secretary absentmindedly wondered what the young girl was doing.

Not that it was any of the secretary's business, but Angela was once again processing and de-crypting several of Cutting's letters and web searches. So far, it was the usual junk: 'Your payment is due', 'What are the Anarchists up to?', 'Weaknesses in major governments', etc. However, there were a few new editions that caught Angela's eye. Once she was able to decipher the pages, all she could think of: "Margo is going to want to see this."

After about an hour after the arrival of Dr. Director and Mr. Rooke, Secret Service notified her of a second group of visitors. They, too, were associated with Mr. Rooke. She rang and notified the President, and uneasily waited for the new arrivals.

Not long after getting off the phone with the President, did he and the rest of the Oval Office occupants exit their meeting. All but Petterson excused themselves, as they needed to take care of other business within their own offices. As they exited, they all discreetly eyed the rag-tag bunch that they assumed were Rooke's agents. They were neither soothed nor impressed by what they saw.

"Mr. President," Rooke said, stepping forward, "may I introduce my team and family."

Slowly, the members of the Syndicate got up from their seats. Angela quickly shut her small laptop and shoved inside the bag next to her.

"This is John-Paul. My sons, Derek and Sutton, Ronan and Angela."

Heath made his way down the line, politely shaking their hands. When he got to Ronan, he hesitated for a moment, taken aback by her injuries. She smirked and held up her bandaged hand. Heath nodded his head and then reached for Angela's small hand.

"Your wife and other guests should be in the main hall by now," Heath said, leading the group out of the annex. Two Secret Service agents followed them.

After turning down the hall, the way opened, creating an elongated room. Striding towards them were Margo and the families that had been left in Mullion's Cove, flanked by even more Secret Service. Kim's heart rose to her throat when she saw her parents and brothers. She found it odd. Never before, following a mission, had that physiological response occurred. She broke away from the cluster and trotted towards her family. She wrapped her arms around her parents and pulled them into a hug. Ron followed her lead, hugging his mother and father. He took Hana from his mother's hip, raised her above his head and brought her safely against his chest.

Unfortunately, the reunion was not nearly as pleasant for Karen, as Ronan obviously did not go bounding across the hall to greet her mother. Instead, Karen's breath caught in her chest as her eyes became full with the sight of Ronan's beaten and battered body. She also sensed Drew's hot glare on her. Karen didn't return the angry look, but she did look at him morosely. She had asked him to do one thing: watch her. And now Ronan was bruised and bleeding.

Drakken eyed his former lover with as much animosity as he could muster. He still didn't have a concrete plan as to how he would pin the blame for Ronan's disparagement on her, but he would find a way. He wanted her to realize what she had done to him, and to her daughter.

Shego, who was at his side, was vaguely aware of his bitter mood. She would've taken another stab at trying to pry the reason for it out of him if she hadn't been so distracted by Rooke's statement earlier. Once prompted, she was able to recall her mother mentioning Leiriakkesh a few times during her childhood. These comments were always fleeting, as her mother always said: "My life did not begin until I came to America."

Other than that, her mother never spoke of Leiriakkesh or anything associated with it. Shego's maternal grandparents were never personified nor mentioned. Her mother never spoke Leirian, and she tried for years to squelch the lyrical accent she spoke with.

Now, for Shego, everything was bubbling up. The situation in which she found herself had gotten even more personal. First, it was simply a kidnap plot against her and Drakken, and then her Aunt got shoved into the mix. Now the same man who ordered the hit on her was responsible for the upset and subsequent fall of her mother's homeland. Shego's mother was probably the only person in her family she could tolerate. No matter how bad Shego had screwed up in the past, her mother had always been there for her. She hadn't spoken to her mother for ages. However, Shego did have a secret security deposit box in an undisclosed location on a certain private Caribbean Island in which she would, on occasion, receive hand written letters from her mother. Shego never wrote back, but the letters came anyway. She kept them in a shoebox under her bed.

Margo continued to walk forward. She briefly hugged Rooke and pecked him on the cheek, before turning to Heath.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. President," she said warmly, shaking his hand. Behind her the Possibles and Stoppables – all slightly 'star struck' – smiled and waved.

Margo looked passed the President to Ronan. "I brought you a change of clothes. I wasn't sure if you had any in the Daeva."

"I did."

"I see that. Unfortunately, you look more of a mess than necessary. Here," Margo said, thrusting the bag she was holding out, "these at least fit."

Ronan muttered a thank you, awkwardly taking the bag. The nearest Secret Service agent led her away, taking her to the nearest restroom so that she could change.

"I brought changes of clothes for the rest of you, as well," Margo told the group. "They are in the car outside."

A flurry of relieved sighs echoed around the hall; all of their clothes were stiff with dust and rubble, and were starting to get uncomfortable. As the two groups began to merge into one, Karen and Drew found each other.

"What the hell happened?" she quietly demanded. "I asked you to watch her."

Drakken bared his teeth. "I was not there when fell off the motorcycle – "

"She fell off a motorcycle?!" Drakken's glare deepened. "What the fuck, Drew?"

Shego watched the pair from a few feet away. She hadn't followed Drakken as he left her side; she was still pondering and he was clearly blinded by something he needed to talk to Karen about. She didn't care as much as she had upon first meeting the other woman. Shego's confidence in her and Drakken's relationship had been strengthened considerably; mainly thanks to the kiss he planted on her that morning and by the soul-eating look he was giving Karen at that moment. There was certainly no love lost between the two.

Karen paused, unable to fully verbalize her unsurprised disappointment and distrust. Finally, she whispered, "And you wondered why I left. Why I didn't tell you about her – "

"Her middle name is Grace!"

Karen's own rant wavered as Drew randomly exploded. She didn't understand why _that _mattered. It seemed like an odd thing to say, given their building argument.

"So what?"

"'So what? Seriously?" Drakken raged, voice jumping an octive. "You cannot expect me to believe you just simply decided to give her that name."

A warm flush rose in Karen's neck and face. Her green eyes involuntarily began to widen and twitch as she looked at him. Neither of them seemed to be aware that their conversation was no longer just between them, as those around them began to whisper and stare.

"If memory serves, you don't particularly care for the name 'Grace'," Drakken hissed.

Karen pursed her lips and paused. Too late, she came back with the retort, "I like the name just fine."

Stepping over Karen's poorly constructed comeback, Drakken said, "Bull shit. You're lying."

Shego's eyebrows shot up; surprised at hearing Dr. D swear. She had heard him do it before, but it didn't come as naturally to him as it did her. Usually he softened the curses with stupid innuendos like 'bull buttons' or 'doodles'.

"I remember you specifically telling me you didn't like the name," Drakken reminded. "Just as I'm sure you remember me telling you that I liked 'Grace' very much." Karen's nostrils flared and her lips pulled into a telling grimace. "If you were so dead-set on not including me in her life, then why, for Heaven's sake, would you give her name that is so important to me?"

"Fine!" Karen yelled. "You're right! Some stupid, naïve part of me wanted to eventually seek you out to tell you about Ronan after she was born. But once I found out what exactly you were doing with your life, I put a halt on that idea. This is your fault!"

"Excuse me?"

Shego had not been able to tear her eyes away from Drakken and Karen. Their argument was very similar to a car wreck: she couldn't look away, even though the clutching, wrenching, squeezing sensation in the pit of her stomach begged her to.

"What's going on?" a voice at her side said.

Ronan had returned, dressed in the clothes Margo had brought her.

"Mommy and Daddy are fighting," Shego explained.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

Ronan gimped into the group and made for Karen and Drakken. Unbeknownst to her, Margo quietly slinked behind her to make sure that Ronan would not cause an escalation in the fray.

"Girls, girls," Ronan interrupted, sauntering up to her parents. "You're both pretty. What the hell are you fighting about?"

"You." Margo stated simply, stepping out from behind Ronan.

"All of you need to calm down." Margo shot looks at Karen, Drakken, and Ronan. "If all of you are intent on making spectacles of yourselves, fine, I'll play along.

"What's done is done. Playing the 'blame game' is infantile and useless. Dr. Drakken, Karen may have at one point after Ronan's birth, considered involving you in your daughter's life. But she didn't. Get over it. Unless you build a time machine, there is nothing you can do about that."

"Don't give him ideas!" Shego cried.

"I cannot deny that stripping her from your life was cruel. Although, that is not as cruel as Ronan voluntarily renouncing you."

Margo eyed Ronan as she said this, watching the young woman's bruised and chapped lips pulling themselves into an angry line. Ronan looked over at Sutton and muttered, "Mama's boy."

"Do not blame Sutton for calling you out on your short-comings, Ronan," Margo reprimanded. "He nor I want to see you make a mistake. Carpe Diem, young lady."

Ronan felt an unwelcome heat radiate from behind her ears and her fingers flexed at her sides. Margo looked at her with stern and motherly eyes. She spared Ronan further embarrassment, and turned to face the rest of the group.

"Now," she said, clasping her hands in front of her, "Angela was able to contact me on the way here." Her voice shifted into 'business-tone', although there was a hint of concern in her eyes.

"This," Angela said, stepping forward and holding up the small laptop she had previously been working on, "is the condensed multi-processer that I've been using to hack into Cutting's computer systems. He's been unusually inactive as of late. However, these past few days, his search engines have been very active."

"What's he been investigating?" Rooke asked.

"The comet accident outside of Go City in 1990."

No one said anything, not sure how to respond. Kim and Ron looked over at Shego, who was staring blankly at Angela.

"Why would he suddenly be interested in that?" Shego finally asked.

Angela shrugged. "Probably for the same reason he's using Vrishkov and some kind of alien technology to destroy cities; he's a neo-xenophile. The Lorwardian invasion inspired him to take global domination to an extraterrestrial level. He must of come across some newspaper articles from the nineties concerning you and your brother's accident, and thought it was worth looking into."

"Thinks it is, or thought it is?"

Angela shifted her shoulders lazily. "Thinks. I'm still running his latest correspondence through my systems, but – "

"Whom is he corresponding with?" Heath asked, taking a decisive step towards her.

Angela's bright blue eyes shifted from the President, to Rooke, to Director, and back to Rooke.

"Umm . . . " she hummed.

"Mr. President," Rooke interjected, "there is one more thing I need to tell you about concerning Cutting." Heath turned to look at him. "He has a mole within your system. One we know for sure, but there are probably more. Not just here; probably in other major governments, as well."

"We're you planning on informing us of this before you took off?" Petterson asked angrily.

Rooke glanced over at Director, who was standing stiffly off to the side. She briefly looked down at her shoes before swallowing her pride.

"The mole Mr. Rooke is referring to is in my organization, Mr. President. It's in Global Justice."

"How long have you known?" Heath asked.

"A little over a week. I have refrained from releasing the information to you or Secretary-General Bur-Whazahm until I was absolutely certain. I did not want to cause unnecessary panic in the wake of the invasion. But now, following attack on Chernobyl, I can confirm that something is amiss within the confines of GJ's walls."

"What makes you so sure now?"

Director licked her lips and said, "The Rabbit had an ATP proto-type that he used to get away. No one but Global Justice personnel has ever had access to its technology or blue prints."

Despite Heath's calm composure, Kim could a vein beginning to tick in his temple.

"How?"

Director knit her brows together and admitted, "I'm not sure. We don't know who they are or at what point Cutting had them infiltrate the system."

Heath stared at Director for a moment more, before his eyes fell to the floor and then locked with Rooke's again.

"Do you have any evidence that he has moles elsewhere?"

"Nothing definitive," Rooke answered. "But knowing Cutting, I don't doubt it for a second."

Heath nodded distractedly, beginning to pace.

"So," he finally said, "he has one of his agents in our judicial system looking for unique ways to bring us down?"

"Well, you and the rest of the world," Angela corrected. "But, yeah."

Silence fell over the crowd, no one knowing what to say. Drakken looked over to Shego, whose one arm was tightly wrapped around her waist and the other was up by her face; that hand clenched in a tight fist against her lips. Her brow was crumpled and her eyes were staring blankly in front of her. Margo was finally the one to break the silence.

"Mr. President," she began, "I speak for all of us when I say: Thank you for the invitation to D.C. However, I am afraid that we will have to be taking our leave. If I know my husband, I know that he has graciously declined your offer to work directly along side your government. I hope there are no hard feelings. Please do not misinterpret this belligerence. We will not be working _against _you. We appreciate the outreach, though."

With that, Margo and Rooke began to lead the Syndicate and their 'visitors' out of the White House. As they all came out onto main terrace, Shego brushed past J.P. and Derek to walk alongside her Aunt and Rooke.

"Where are we going?"

She had a feeling she already knew the answer, but she wanted to be sure.

"Go City," Margo answered, not looking at her. "I did not anticipate this move of Cutting's. We need to make sure my brother and yours are aware of the situation and kept safe."

"Is it _really _necessary to make a special stop to Go City?"

Margo turned to face her niece, her face slack with calmness but her eyes were blazing with fury.

"Cutting will not touch my family. Especially the one that is unable to properly defend themselves." Shego opened her mouth to protest but Margo stopped her. "Yes. Despite your brothers' powers, the way that Henry has Team Go working, they won't last long against the Black Rabbits. That, and if the Rabbits catch wind that your mother is from Leiriakkesh, there will be a lot bigger problems to deal with."

"Why does that matter?"

"Weren't you listening earlier, Saoirse? Lucas Cutting has been, for all intents and purposes, running Leiriakkesh since 1960. He and his Rabbits have made sure that almost no one has left those borders since then. Your mother was one of the few who managed to escape. If the Rabbits somehow find out that Miriam Gordon is first-generation Leirian, they will find her and bring her back to the province. And since you and your brothers are half-Leirian, they will also see fit to try and bring you back. Or kill all of you. One of the two."

Shego gaped at her Aunt for a few seconds, not knowing what to say.

"What now?" came a voice from the open door.

The Syndicate, Kim, Ron, their families, Drakken and Shego turned to look at the speaker: it was Minka, Will following closely behind her.

"What do you mean 'What now?'" Derek asked. "I figured you two be staying behind with Director. Now that her cat's out of the bag."

Minka frowned. "We were given specific orders to keep an eye on Kim, Ron, Drakken, and Shego while they were in your care. Those orders have not changed."

"I think can all agree that they are in no immediate danger while they are in _our _care," Derek spat back.

"Enough," Rooke ordered. "I've had enough of arguing for today. Agent Carlisle and Agent Du are to stay with us; as are the Possibles, Stoppables, Dr. Drakken, and Saoirse. We will all return to Hoolock airbase, get in the Daeva and fly a few hours East. We will land somewhere remote and spend the night. Tomorrow, we continue to Go City."

No one said anything, no one argued.

* * *

It was around eight at night by the time Ronan once again landed to Daeva in a isolated valley in the Appalachian mountains, about an hours flight from Washington D.C. At once, John-Paul, Derek, and Sutton gathered a series of tarps that were kept under the Daeva's floor and headed out into the darkness with them. The tarps, as it turned out, were a series of tents. The Possibles and Stoppables got the two biggest ones, so as to accommodate their families; there were four other smaller tents, each made for two occupants that were split among the rest. The tents themselves had been configured into a circle, with the Daeva standing protectively a few feet away. Once all the tents had been set up, John-Paul went about making a fire in the middle of the circle.

Kim and Ron sat in the grass as the fire began to flicker and take form. Minka and Will sat by them, and their parents were not too far away. Hana, Jim and Tim had been put down to bed in the two larger tents. Shego had also disappeared into the tent she had claimed for herself and Drakken. After awhile, the rest of their company came to sit by the fire. The only people missing were Ronan, Sutton, and Mrs. Dr. Possible. Those three were still in the Daeva. After much protesting, Ronan had seceded, and agreed to let the neurosurgeon examine her to make sure that she was definitely alright following her accident.

Since leaving D.C., Kim had occupied herself with her Kimmunicator. She had briefly talked to Wade, informing him of Chernobyl and their impromptu trip back to the United States.

"What's next?" he had asked.

"We're off to Go City," Kim explained. "Gonna meet Shego's parents."

"Weird."

"Ch-ya," Kim quipped. "I don't know what Rooke has in store for them. This group is big enough already; I can't see adding six more people to it. Hey, quick question. Have _you _heard of a place called Leiriakkesh?"

Being a super genius, Wade was usually pretty good at knowing things concerning random people, places, and things.

Wade looked puzzled for a moment, "I don't think so. Why?"

"Rooke mentioned during the 'meet-and-greet' with the president. He said that Cutting ran it."

"Okay," Wade said slowly. " That's random. Why didn't Rooke mention this before? Like, ya know, when he was telling you about the Syndicate's origins."

Kim shrugged. "Dunno. It's seems like a pretty big side note to keep out of the story."

Wade nodded in agreement. "I'll see if I can find anything and let you know. Wade out!"

Just as Kim's Kimmunicator blacked out, the Daeva had begun its decent into the valley. Now, she sat on the ground, her head leaning on Ron's shoulder, watching the orange and yellow flames of the fire lick the night air.

"We used to have fires like this back home in New Mexico," Minka uttered suddenly.

Kim glanced over at the agent. She was sitting with her knees tucked up into her chin, her arms wrapped around them. Her chin rested rigidly on the top of her kneecaps as she stared blankly forward. Her eyes appeared detached and glassy.

Kim sighed and added, "It's nice. Despite the circumstances, I guess. My family and I make fires every time we visit my uncle and cousin in Montana."

"I didn't know you had family there," Minka commented.

"Just Uncle Slim and his daughter, Joss. She's about four years younger than me."

Minka nodded absently. Suddenly, she stood up and began to walk towards one of the smaller tents.

"I'm going to bed."

Kim watched her go. Just behind the tent Minka had zipped herself into, she saw the outline of Drakken. He was facing away from the fire, looking at the Daeva in front of him. The Daeva's steps had been lowered since they landed. Kim wondered why he just didn't go up them. But then she remembered the spat he and Karen had in the White House and how dejected he had looked on the flight to D.C.

Not having children herself, Kim found it difficult to imagine how it must feel to find out that your parent so late in the child's life and to have that child reject you. Drakken was her arch foe, or had been – she didn't really know where she stood with the doctor (or Shego, for that matter) since saving the world together. Despite this, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

As Kim continued to gaze at the back of Drakken's head, she heard the rustling and crunching of grass as someone walked behind her. She turned to see Karen walking on the skirts of the circle. Soon, she too left the glow of the fire and became little more than a silhouette. Kim hoped that Karen wasn't going over to Drakken to reinitiate their squabble; one had been awkward enough. Thankfully, it didn't appear so. When she was in reach, Karen attentively placed a hand on Drakken's shoulder as she came around to face him. Kim watched for a moment more as to the two began to talk. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it seemed to be civil.

* * *

As Karen approached Drew's back, she reached out a hand and hesitantly placed it on his shoulder. She felt him jump a bit as her palm molded to his broad deltoid. To her surprise, a small vine shot from his neck and wrapped itself around her hand and wrist. At first it gave a constricting squeeze, but when Drakken saw that it was Karen, the grip loosened. Gracefully, she stepped around to face him.

Looking into his eyes, she took a deep breath and whispered, "I'm sorry, Drew. I truly am. I don't know how many times I can say it."

She removed her hand from his shoulder and tried to let it fall to her side, but the tendril that had wound itself around her stayed in placed, not allowing her hand to fully fall. It hung strangely between her and Drew. He didn't seem at all perturbed by it and didn't bother to call the vine back. Instead, he continued to stare at the ground, letting Karen's apology roll around in his head.

Finally he whispered, "I know."

He lifted his head and look at her. For a minute the two just stared at each other, until Drew said something that took Karen aback.

"I'm sorry too."

Karen's mouth opened a bit, lost for words. She again glanced down at the vine holding her hand. It had started to bloom small, light colored flowers. Karen glanced back up at Drew, still uncertain of what to say. Thankfully, the clatter of someone descending the Daeva's steps saved her from having to say anything.

Drew's vine quickly unfurled itself from Karen's hand and disappeared as they both turned to see who was exiting the jet. It was Mrs. Dr. Possible. Seeing the two, she quickened her pace.

"She's fine," Anne answered before Karen could ask. "Her injuries are purely superficial."

A faint smile twitched at the corners of Karen's mouth. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," the doctor ascended. "Now if you two will excuse me, I'm gonna go hit the hay. Long day."

With that, Mrs. Dr. Possible brushed past them and entered the tent circle. Karen looked back to Drew.

"I'm gonna go talk to her," she said. "Do you wanna come?"

Drew paused, his eyes darkening. He shifted his weight, turning to the tents.

"No thank you."

Karen watched Drew as he headed for the tent Shego had disappeared into. She sighed, folding her arms across her body as a chilly breeze blew through the valley. She turned on her heel and headed for the Daeva's stairs.

As Karen climbed her way into the cabin, she saw Ronan and Sutton sitting their usual chairs. The only difference being, they were swiveled so that they faced each other. Ronan had her long legs stretched out; her feet perched on one of Sutton's armrests. In her lap, the napkin of food that Drakken had offered her earlier lay open and she was sucking on a piece of cold beef.

Upon seeing Karen, Sutton leapt to his feet, while Ronan remained in her relaxed position.

"I'm . . . er," Sutton muttered heading for the stairs, "gonna check on . . . that . . . thing."

"What thing?" Ronan called lazily.

"You know, that . . . jet . . . fuel . . . emission . . . thing," Sutton warbled, brushing past Karen and descending the steps.

Once he was gone, Karen turned back to Ronan and jokingly said, "He doesn't work well under pressure?"

Ronan tossed her beef piece back into the napkin. "Usually he does. He also usually improvises a little better."

Karen grinned and began walking toward the seat Sutton had vacated.

"So, you built this?" she asked, sitting in the co-pilot seat. Karen glanced around the Daeva's interior and at Ronan.

Ronan swung her legs off of the opposing chair's armrest and sat up a little straighter. She didn't meet her mother's eye, but she nodded almost undetectably.

"Ronan," Karen chuckled. "You're amazing. I really had no idea."

"After seven years of accelerated schooling, you had no idea that I'm smart?"

"I always knew you were smart. I just didn't realize that you . . . could build super duper planes and stuff," Karen explained lamely.

"Oh yeah. Super duper planes," Ronan said. "Wait until you see my other 'neat-o' stuff. I've got some trinkets that are just too 'hep' to handle."

Karen smiled, and shook her head. "You are just like your father."

Ronan's reddened eyes snapped to her mother and her posture automatically became rigid. "Am I?"

Karen's smile fell and she scooted closer to her daughter. "Ro, I've already told your father and I've already told you, but I'll say it again: I'm sorry. Like Margo said, we can't – _I _can't – change what I've done."

"Do you regret it?"

"Right now, only in the sense that it led to this shit show that we are currently in," Karen replied with a detesting smirk. Again, her face fell into seriousness. "I had planned on telling you eventually. I swear. But when I found out that he was criminal . . . I couldn't do it. I didn't know what he'd do to us. To you. Can you blame me?"

After a moment, Ronan said, "I guess not."

Karen's eyes grew soft as she stretched a finger out to brush away an unruly slip of hair that had fallen into Ronan's eyes. Lovingly, she slicked back on top of her head.

"I am so proud of you," she whispered. "I know I haven't said that enough."

"Why?" Ronan asked. The question was genuine.

"First off, because you're _my_ daughter," Karen answered with a quiet laughter. "Also because you've accomplished so much, and you are continuing to do incredible things! I mean, I don't have all the nitty-gritty details, but you're helping make the world a better place. Aren't you?"

Ronan shrugged and muttered: "Yeah. I guess."

"Plus, you're not a fuck-up like I was," Karen admitted.

Ronan's eyes grew wide and exasperated. "Don't patronize me, mother."

"I'm not patronizing you," Karen insisted. "Yes, we've definitely had some rocky times, but at least you didn't runaway and get pregnant by some guy you had only known for a few months."

Again, Ronan's face grew limp as a faint veil of hurt fell over her. "You regret that, don't you? You must."

Karen sighed, running her fingers through her long hair. "The situation was not ideal, but I do not in any way regret anything that gave me you."

Ronan couldn't help but look at her mother skeptically. "I'm not in any way a disappointment to you or your family?"

"You know what? Forget my family. Fuck 'em. Any baby that doesn't come out wearing pearls or a Ralph Lauren Polo is going to be a disappointment as far as most of them are concerned. But you most certainly are not a disappointment to me, Grandma, or Grandpa."

The look of skepticism did not wash away from Ronan's face. In fact, it began to mix with an irritated grimace. She knew Karen was purposely over selling this apology. Ronan shifted in her chair and looked away from her mother.

"Hey," Karen said firmly, sitting even closer. Hesitantly, Ronan met her mother's gaze. "I mean it. You are not a disappointment. You have never been. Don't presume other's feelings and thoughts about you just so you have a reason to block them out."

Ronan swallowed. "You talked to Margo."

"She talked to me, but that doesn't matter. No one thinks of you that way. You're amazing. You've done incredible things. You have no reason to shut him out."

Ronan was struck by the sudden pronoun. The two women sat in silence for moment before Karen spoke again.

"I'm sorry. Again," she added. "Ro, I'm really tired of this Joan-and-Christina-Crawford thing we've got going on – "

"We're both to blame for that. Mostly me, though," Ronan said quietly, not meeting her mother's eyes.

Mildly flustered by Ronan's acceptance of responsibility, Karen continued, "Now that the 'Dad' thing is out of the bag, can I please be a part of your life. Not even a big part; I'll settle for a small part."

A small, unstoppable grin flickered across Ronan's mouth. After a beat, she said, "We can try, I guess."

Karen smiled and got up from her seat, taking a couple steps towards the stairs.

"Good night, Mommie Dearest," Ronan said over her shoulder.

Karen chuckled, turned, and kissed the top of Ronan's head, "I love you, Baby Jane."

Ronan sat; stunned at the degree of affection she had received. She watched her mother go down the Daeva's steps and disappear.

* * *

When Drakken entered the tent, he saw Shego sprawled across one of the sleeping bags, her arms flung over her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he zipped up the tent's door.

"Meh."

"I see."

Drakken waddled over to the sleeping bag next to her and lay down. Feeling his weight next to hers, Shego automatically grabbed his nearest arm, pulling it behind her head so she could scoot closer to him; she used his shoulder as a pillow. Drakken didn't protest. In fact, he was a bit baffled by the uncharacteristic affection. At least it was Shego-ish in the fact that she didn't ask for him to put his arm around her; she just took it and made him do it.

Settling in, Drakken let out a sigh, "Long day."

"Mmm."

There was a small pause before Drakken took another stab at a conversation.

"So, Go City tomorrow," he broke off waiting to hear what Shego would say.

"Dr. D," she droned, "don't go there."

"Go where? Go City?"

"Dr. D," Shego growled.

Hearing the warning rumble in her voice, Drakken tried a different tactic.

"You've never mentioned your parents. I didn't know they were still alive."

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"I dunno," he said with a shrug. "I guess I always just thought of super heroes as being orphaned."

"Batman, Team Go is not."

Drakken nodded. "So, what're your parents like?" He heard and felt Shego growl next to him. "Oh, c'mon Shego! You've met my mother!"

"Yeah, I didn't ask for that." Shego suddenly sat up and turned to look at the doctor, "D, have you talked to your mother since the invasion?"

Drakken blinked at her. "No."

"Don't you think you should?"

"Why?"

Shego gawked at him. "I don't know if you've noticed Dr. Perceptible, but a few major events have taken place recently that she should probably be made aware of."

Drakken scoffed and settled himself back down onto the sleeping bag. "Mother gets cable. I'm sure she saw the awards ceremony."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Shego said, slapping his side.

"Hey! Oh," Drakken cried, sitting up and catching Shego's annoyed look. "Yes, I suppose I should give mother a call. Considering," he gestured between them.

"Yeah," Shego drawled. "Telling her that we are now an item would be good. But I was also thinking about a certain tall-and-dark someone. Name rhymes with Shmo-nan."

Drakken frowned and laid back down on his sleeping bag. "I don't think I need to bother mother with that."

"What? Why not?"

Drakken made a face and rolled away from Shego so that his back was facing her.

"What were you and Karen fighting about today?" Shego asked, figuring that Drakken's sudden sour mood was somehow connected to that.

When he didn't answer, Shego let out a small sigh. She adjusted herself, and leaned on Drakken's arm, resting her head on his shoulder.

"My Dad's name is Jay Gordon, my mother's name is Miriam. Dad's the Go City chief of police. Mom stays at home, taking care of the house and the twins. I don't think I've ever told you their actual names, have I? Well, there's Henry, the oldest. Then Mel, and then the twins: William and Wallace."

"Ronan wants nothing to do with me," Drakken said suddenly.

Shego shifted her head to look at him. His brow was furrowed and a deep frown etched his face.

"So that's what happened before we left Belarus," Shego whispered. "I'm sorry, D."

She squeezed his arm lightly, rubbing it tenderly. Scooting a little bit forward, Shego rested her head on his. A few minutes of silence past as both of them stared at the nylon side of the tent.

"Maybe she'll change her mind," Shego said after awhile. "She's an angry kid, Dr. D."

"I didn't know my father either," Drakken said. "I always wished I did. I just assumed she would feel the same."

Shego had never heard Drakken mention his father. Biting her lip, she asked, "What happened to him?"

"He died in a car accident before I was born. He is little more to me than a few photographs," Drakken confided bitterly.

"Maybe you should tell her that," Shego offered. She kissed his cheek and said, "Good night, Dr. D."

"Good night, Shego."

* * *

Miriam Gordon was woken up by the sun pouring in through the bedroom window and by the light summer breeze fluttering through the gossamer curtains. Stretching languidly, she kicked the sheet off her body and glanced over at the digital clock on the end table: 6:50 AM.

Yawning she sat up and swung her legs to the floor. Rubbing her eyes, she looked over to her husband's side of the bed. It was empty. He had needed to get up at four o'clock so he could get to the station and oversee the shooting range. He would be back around lunchtime. Sighing, Miriam got to her feet and shuffled towards the Master bathroom.

After showering and dressing, Miriam headed downstairs. The house was empty except for her. Not only was her husband at work, but her youngest – the twins – were at Go Park High School, helping with the cross country camp there. Entering the kitchen, she was greeted with the smell of coffee; Jay had left half a pot for her before leaving that morning. Miriam poured herself a mug, and popped it in the microwave to warm it up. As she waited for the beverage to finish, she looked over the newspaper clippings that she had been affixing to the fridge for several years.

All the articles and photos had to do with Team Go is some respect: benefits, saving the city, being granted keys to the city, and so on. The newest edition to the collage was a clipping concerning an award ceremony that had taken place in Washington D.C. barely a week ago. The picture was of her daughter, Saoirse Gordon (AKA Shego), and her employer. Miriam had contemplated getting in touch with her daughter since the invasion, but thought better of it. If Saoirse wanted contact, she would initiate it. Although, as days past with no word from her, Miriam started to get discouraged. She didn't know if she was being naïve or not, but she had thought that since saving the world, Saoirse might come home. At least for a bit.

The microwave beeped and Miriam retrieved her coffee and grabbed a banana from the basket on the counter. She settled herself at the kitchen counter and perused the morning paper as she sipped her black coffee and ate her breakfast.

At 8:00, Miriam headed outside to work on her garden in the front yard. As she collected the necessary bags of soil, trowels, and hand-rakes, she idly looked south. From the Gordon family house, she could see the tops of the Go City skyscrapers, and even farther down the horizon she saw the faint outlines of the Chicago skyline. Sighing, Miriam got to her knees and began to dig through the plants and dirt.

* * *

It was about ten in the morning when the Syndicate and their followers got off the interstate and headed into the surrounding suburbs of Go City. After landing the Daeva at an abandoned farm just at the Wisconsin-Illinois border, Rooke made arrangements from the crew to take three cars into Go City. Kim wondered just how many people Rooke had at his disposal that enabled him to land pretty much anywhere and was able to call for a ride. It reminded Kim of . . . well, her.

As it turned out, Shego and her family didn't actually live _in _Go City. The Gordons actually resided in Go Park, a well-to-do middle class suburb just twenty minutes from the heart of the metropolis.

As the three car caravan zipped through the winding streets of Go Park, Kim was struck by how nice the neighborhood was. Most of the houses were old, colonial style structures with sprawling front lawns and stone walkways.

Belatedly, she realized that all three cars were pulling up to the street curb and coming to a stop. Kim looked outside the passenger-side windows up at the house they were in front of. It was a large, white, two-story colonial with navy blue shutters and trim. Unlike the other houses on the block, this one had a white picket fence surrounding the front yard, and extended back beyond the house. The fence, as well, as the house's porch and yard, was adorned with all matter of floral plant life. Vines of pink and blue colored flowers twisted themselves around the stakes of the fence and around the posters that held the roof above the porch. Other kinds of flowers and Hastas lined the brick walkway that led to the porch steps. Two enormous Hydrangea bushes flanked either side of the stairs, blossoms of cream hanging on its branches.

Just as the large group began to exit their respective vehicles, a woman rounded the left corner of the house, carrying a pair of pruning shears. Even under the shadow of her wide-brimmed sun hat, Kim could see that the woman bore a remarkable resemblance to Shego. This woman was a tad shorter, and her body had softened with age and childbearing, but this woman was undoubtedly Shego's mother.

As she came back to the front yard, she noticed the slew of people that had filled the sidewalk in front of her house. Her walk slowed as she gazed, confused, at the group. Then she stopped altogether as her eyes picked out Shego in the crowd. She dropped the shears she was holding and began striding towards the fence. Taking a deep breath, Shego unlatched the gate and began walking up the way to meet her mother.

Without a hint of hesitance, Shego's mother wrapped her arms around her daughter, hugging her tightly. Despite that she was spattered with dirt, Shego didn't seem to mind the embrace. A moment passed as the two women held to each other, swaying lightly. Then Miriam spied Margo and Rooke in the crowd. Slowly, she let go of her daughter, her eyes glued to her sister and brother-in-law.

"Margo," she said, astonished. It was almost undetectable, but their was a strange lilting accent to her voice.

"Hello, Miriam," Margo said warmly, stepping through the gate. "You remember my husband, Stephen?"

Rooke stepped next to his wife, smiling softly.

"Of course." Miriam glanced back over at the rest of the visitors, then to Shego, then to Margo. "What's going on?"

"May we come inside? There's a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

**A/N: **The Mommie Dearest/Baby Jane/ Joan and Christina Crawford allusion refers to . . . well, Joan Crawford, who was made infamous when her daughter wrote a book (called 'Mommie Dearest') chronicling the mother and daughter's tumultuous relationship. 'Baby Jane' was a film starring Ms. Crawford and Betty Davis.

I hope you all liked this chapter. I promise, excitement will ensue in Chapter 15. A certain technicolor bunch may show up . . . maybe even a rabbit or two.

Please review! :D


	15. Fathers and Daughters: Part II

**A/N: **Once again, this was supposed to be the first part of the theoretical 'chapter 15'. And once again, I got up to about 35 pages and decided to split it up. Again. That being said, chapter 16 is little more than half way done, so hopefully that will be up soon.

Thanks again to all my reviewers. A special shout out to zzzoo99, who gave me the idea to give Shego an embarrassing nickname. It is by no means on the same level as 'bubble butt', but for Shego it's pretty close.

Enjoy this installement, and please Review! Reviewing usually gives me the 'gusto' to get chapters up faster. That and free time :-P

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kim Possible or any of its affiliated characters or locations.

* * *

Miriam showed her unexpected guests into the house. She led them into the large, airy dining room and offered them seats. Unfortunately, there was only room for ten people around the table, and there were twenty of them – including the twins and Hana. Since the Possible and Stoppable parents had thus far been rather indirectly involved in the mission – and were content on staying that way – they made themselves comfortable in the Gordon's living area. Hana, who was starting to get fussy, began to calm down as her father slowly rocked her in the large, plush recliner at the far end of the room.

Kim and Ron followed their parents into the living room as Miriam headed back to the kitchen to make tea before they sat down and had a serious talk. Kim meandered over to the fireplace, where, upon its mantle, a series of family portraits were meticulously placed. This was the first time Kim had seen pictures of Shego as a child. And it was unexpected.

For a woman who reminded her so much as a super evil Bonnie in almost everyway, she was shocked to see that when Shego was an adolescent she look awkward and gawky. In the largest of the family photos, Shego looked to be about eight years old. She, her siblings, and her parents were arranged in the usual family picture fashion: parents in the background, kids in the foreground.

Hego (who looked to be in his preteens) was standing proudly next to his father. Even at his young age, he was already showing signs of becoming the hulking mass of muscle he was now. Briefly, Kim wondered if this photo had been taken after the comet accident. However, as her eyes found Mego in the group, she knew it had been pre-comet; the second oldest brother was not yet purple-tinted. Miriam was holding one of the twins in the photo, smiling brilliantly. Next to her, Shego held the other twin awkwardly in her small arms. She was wearing a golden yellow dress with lace trim on the hem and the sleeves. Her black hair had been pulled into cock-eyed pigtails, and she had a series of too-big bracelets looping her wrists – undoubtedly from Miriam's jewelry box. Perhaps what was most striking about Shego in the picture were her big, round glasses and her teeth (those that weren't missing) were terribly crooked. An involuntary laugh that almost sounded like a cough bubbled at the back of Kim's throat. Shego looked more like her than Bonnie, save for the porcelain skin and black hair.

Maybe there was some truth to Ron's theory about Shego being her 'evil paradox'. Kim inspected the photo a little more and noticed something she hadn't at first: Shego's eyes weren't green. Hego's weren't bright blue, and Mego's weren't violet. They all had same deep blue-grey color. Never before had Kim considered the fact that the comet may have altered the Go siblings DNA and phenotypic make-up. It was odd.

* * *

Miriam held the phone to her ear as she waited for the kettle to whistle. Her heart was thudding against her chest painfully, yet happily. She was ecstatic that Saoirse had returned home. But the fact that Margo and her husband accompanied her had cued something worrisome. Miriam hadn't spoken to Jay's sister in years, not since . . . well, it had been a long time at any rate. She had left her visitors alone in the living room and dining room as she made the tea.

Miriam breathed heavily into the phone as the ringing on the other end became monotonous.

"Come on Jay," she sighed, switching the phone from her right ear to her left.

Finally, his voicemail kicked in; she was hoping for him, but she would take what she could get.

"Hey Jay. It is about," she glanced over at the kitchen clock, "10:15. I know you are supposed to be at the range for another hour, but if you can sneak away and come home ASAP, that would be . . . great. Nothing's wrong!" Miriam added quickly. "There's just someone here who wants to talk to us. Hope to see you soon. Love you."

After ending the call, Miriam held the phone in front of her and punched in another number. Once again, she brought the head set to her ear. After a couple rings, the person on the other line picked up.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Henry. How are you?"

"I'm doing alright, Mom. And yourself?"

Miriam licked her lips, trying to decide just _how _she was feeling.

"I am not entirely sure," she admitted. "Are you busy today?"

There was a pause on Henry's end. "I have a staff meeting at four, but otherwise no. Is everything alright?"

"Yes. I think. Listen, if it is not too much trouble, could you come home right now?"

Another pause.

"Sure, Mom. Are you sure everything's okay? You sound funny."

Miriam chuckled. "I'm fine. It's just . . . well, you'll see when you get here. By the way, could you pick up your brother before you come in?"

"Sure thing," Henry replied. "I'll see you in about half an hour."

"Okay son. Love you," and she hung up the phone.

Just as she placed the head set back in its cradle, Miriam heard the front door open and two voices rang through the house.

"MOM! WE'RE HOME!"

As the Gordon twins entered the front hall, they simultaneously dropped their gym bags at the door. At once, Kim and Ron came striding into the hall from the living room. The unexpected sight took the boys aback.

"Kim Possible!" one said.

"Ron Stoppable! What're you guys doing here?" said the other.

"Eh, it's a long story," Kim answered tiredly.

"Boys, please do not leave your bags at the front door," Miriam reminded, walking through the hallway that connected the front room and kitchen.

"What's going on?" asked a twin. He had glanced over Kim and Ron's shoulders into the living room and spied their families.

"I'll explain once you both get cleaned up," their mother said. As she spoke, Margo stepped into the hall from the dining room that was just to the right of the front closet.

"Well, you boys have certainly grown since the last time I saw you," she commented with a smile. The boys blinked, recognizing her but unable to recall her name.

"I'm Margo," she said, "your father's sister."

It was then the twins saw the rest of the group all scattered and seated about the dining room.

"Shego!" they cried, trotting over to their sister.

Shego's nose wrinkled and a disgusted grimace tugged at her face as her brothers –who were rank with sweat and dirt from that morning's run – got a little too close for comfort.

"William, Wallace," Miriam said, a warning edge to her voice, "what have I said about the Team Go names in the house?"

Miriam's pride in her super hero children was uncontainable. However, she did not want their alter egos to be _who _they were. While she understood the need for the Team Go monikers and their vagueness amongst the public, she was fervent on keeping her children grounded. Calling each other their nicknames as a legitimate title could only lead to trouble. What if a neighbor heard them calling each other Hego, Shego, Mego, or Wego? They would be outted and be made spectacles of by the general population.

There was also the fact that becoming super heroes had put a large strain on the family: fighting, injuries, and, of course, Saoirse's upheaval from the group and family. Had they not been bestowed with super powers, she may have stayed. It was a possibility Miriam thought of often. Besides, they were her children and she loved the names she and her husband had given them, and she loved hearing them.

The twins muttered an apology before turning back to Shego.

"What're you doing here?" one asked.

"Will," Shego coughed, "take a step back."

The twin that had spoken took a large step behind the other.

"Aw, what's the matter _Surshy_?" Wallace asked, stepping towards her with his arms open. "No love?"

"I'm not messing around here, Wally!" Shego warned stepping away from him, her arms up in fighting position. "Don't touch me while you're all gross and sweaty!"

Wallace, being the younger brother he was, did not listen and continued to advance towards Shego. Just as he was about to wrap his moist arms around her, there was a bright green flash as one of Shego's plasma blasts sent him flying across the room. However, his path of trajectory was cut short as his body barreled into Ronan. He smacked her shoulder and fell to the floor, tumbling through the front hall into the living room.

"Ah!" Ronan yelled, hand clutching at her recently re-set shoulder, "Ffffff . . . "

Her swear trailed off as Margo fixed her with a deadly glare. From across the room, Kim could see a small grin flutter across Minka's face.

"Saoirse," Miriam hissed. "Are you all right?" she asked Ronan.

Ronan had one hand propped against the dining room doorframe, letting it hold her weight until the pain subsided. Karen had left the living room to stand behind her watchfully.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Fine. I'm fine. I'm just . . . gonna go sit outside. Away from the acrobatics."

"I'm all right too, Mom!" called Wally.

"You are a seventeen-year-old boy. You are indestructible," Miriam scoffed lovingly.

Turning carefully, Ronan hobbled out the front door and sat on the porch steps. She took out a cigarette and lit it.

Back inside, the twins gathered up their duffle bags and ran upstairs to shower. As the previous excitement ebbed, Drakken turned to Shego and said: "Surshy?"

Shego gave him a warning glare, which he grinned at. She swiftly kicked him in the shin, which ended that.

"Drewbie."

"Please do not fight in the house," Miriam ordered, placing her hands on her hips. From the kitchen, a shrill whistle sounded.

"The tea!" Miriam exclaimed. She had nearly forgotten. She rushed back to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Come help me with this, Surshy!"

"MOM!"

"Sorry! Saoirse!"

Shego met her mother in the kitchen and immediately became distracted by the fridge. She walked over to it and began inspecting its many adornments: clippings from Team Go's very first mission, rescuing the mayor from Aviarius, capturing Electronique. The photo of her and Drakken caught Shego's eye and she stopped to give it a good stare. There was the smooth feeler that had pulled Shego to Drakken's side, blossom and all. At the sight of the picture, Shego's mind flooded with the memories of that night: the comforting squeeze of Drakken's vine around her waist, the butterflies in her stomach as the tendril pulled her to him, the warmth and shape of his body nestled against hers, and then there was the smile. The sheepish, but undeniably pleased, smile spread across her face as she looked at her employer. Shego couldn't help it; she smiled again looking at the photograph. Behind her, her mother chattered away, unaware that she wasn't listening.

"I only have Lipton. I hope that is all right. I know they're all probably used to having fancy loose-leaf tea. Had I known you were all stopping by, I could have picked some up. Oh well. Could you please get some mugs from the cupboard? There in the one on the far left. Saoirse?"

After a moment of waiting for mugs, Miriam turned away from the stove to see what was taking her daughter so long. Shego was still standing at the fridge, eyes fixed on the photo of her and Drakken. Carefully, Miriam stepped beside her, eying the smile on Shego's lips and the photograph.

"He is more than your employer, isn't he?" Miriam questioned carefully.

Shego looked to her mother, a soft blush rising in her cheeks. A kind, motherly smile formed across Miriam's face.

"Saoirse," she began, grabbing Shego's shoulders tenderly, "I just want you to be happy. That's why I never went looking for you out or asked you to come home. I wanted to, but I knew that is not what you wanted. You are a smart, strong-willed, talented young woman. You know what you want and, despite everything, I trust you. If – Dr. Drakken, is it? – makes you happy, then that is good enough for me. You don't need to explain."

Shego blinked at her mother, and then pulled her into a tight hug.

"I've missed you, Mommy," she whispered almost inaudibly into Miriam's hair.

Even through all the grief that she had dragged her mother through, Shego could always count on Miriam to be nonjudgmental and understanding. Like Shego had told Ronan are day or two before, she didn't make apologies for the choices she made. But it was nice to know that at least one of her family members stood beside her no matter what. She could easily stand on her own, but it was nice to know that – if need be – someone was there for her.

It was also nice that her mother did not seem agitated by the fact that her daughter was involved with a man nearly twice her age – much less a reformed convict. Although, she was a reformed convict herself, so she supposed that _that _was not a huge issue or surprise. Shego liked that she didn't feel like she needed to explain her feelings for Drakken to her mother, like she did Aunt Margo and Kim.

"I've missed you too," Miriam whispered back, her voice becoming thick.

The mother and daughter broke apart after a few more moments and went about getting the tea ready.

* * *

As Ronan sat on the top step of the porch, smoking her second cigarette, two cars pulled up the driveway. A middle-aged man got out of the first car. He was tall and had a hefty build to him. He was by no means fat, nor was he cut. He looked like that at one point in his life he would've been a force to be reckoned with on a football field. His hair was a soft dark brown, with specks of white at his temples. The thick mustache under his nose and his hardened expression were fitting for his profession as a police chief.

Out of the second car came two young men. The one on the driver's side looked to be about thirty or so, and was the same height as the older gentleman. He was also built similarly, although his muscles were much larger and exaggeratedly contoured. He had the same strong jaw line as the older man as well as other similar facial features. His hair color was like Ronan's: blue-black. Although, she was sure he didn't dye it that shade.

The man who got out of the car's passenger side was very different than the two bulky men. He was quite a few inches shorter than they were and very slender. His skin was pale, with almost sickly lavender undertones. His hair was long and had been pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. From where she was sitting, Ronan could already tell that the thin man bore a resemblance much greater to Shego and Miriam than the two muscle-y men he arrived with.

The three men came through the front gate and strode up to the house. They all paused at the foot of the porch steps as they came to stare at Ronan. The oldest looked at her with thinly veiled disgust, eying her Mohawk, cigarette, piercings, torn jeans, and scuffed knee-high boots. She looked just like the hoodlums he dealt with on a regular basis. The other two looked at her with varying degrees of confusion. The blue man looked politely perplexed at her, while the violet one looked only slightly interested.

"Hello," Ronan said dully after a few seconds of silence.

"Who are you?" asked the oldest gruffly.

"The Avon Lady."

Before he could comment on her sass, Miriam opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch.

"Jay! You're all here," she observed, smiling at her husband and oldest sons. "Quick, come in. Come in. The tea's all ready."

"You made tea?" Mego asked, walking up the steps. He was followed by the other two, carefully skirting around Ronan. "Why?"

Miriam's lips twitched before she said, "You'll see. How's your shoulder? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Ronan groaned, getting up and following the rest inside.

As Jay, Hego, and Mego entered the house, they were all taken aback by the number of people in the dining room, most of whom they did not recognize. Then Jay's fell on Shego and Margo. His jaw locked at the sight of them. Margo eyed her younger brother with a look of haughty amusement, while Shego stared blankly at him. Internally, an aberrant, nervous knot twisted in her gut.

"Sis!" Hego cried approaching her. "I knew you'd come back! Especially after showing those aliens some good old fashioned justice!"

"Heg - Henry, I'm not _back._"

Shego's oldest brother stopped short. "But I thought . . . saving the world . . . the award ceremony . . . your record was wiped clean."

As Hego warbled through his thoughts, the twins came barreling downstairs. They stopped just short of running into Ronan again. She threw them an agitated look and they smiled apologetically.

"Henry, it wasn't my goal to save the world. That just happened. My goal was to save this doofus behind me who got himself abducted by the aliens," Shego explained, jabbing her thumb behind her at Drakken.

"Thanks Shego," Drakken muttered.

"Having her record expunged does not erase what she's done," Jay corrected his son.

From where she was, Kim saw Shego's eyes flash and a red tint rose in her cheeks.

Before anything else was said, Margo stood up from her seat. "Jay, Saoirse, Miriam, den," she ordered, walking around the table and out of the dining room. At first, none followed. Margo spun on the heel of her pump and glared sternly at them. Reluctantly, all three trudged after her.

The den was just beyond the living room and was separated by a set of windowed French doors. Margo waited for Jay, Miriam, and Shego to enter the room before she shut the doors and pulled the curtains over them.

"Now," she said, turning to face them, "let's get all this family-unpleasantness out of the way before Stephen and I carry on to the actual reason why we are here."

"What _family _unpleasantness?" Jay repeated, glowering at his older sister. "You're not in any position to comment on my family, Margo. You've been pretty much gone since you left for the Peace Corps. Even before any of our children were born."

"Jay, please," Miriam begged, "your temper. Calm down."

Remaining her calm, stoic self, Margo replied, "My physical absence from your life, Jay, does not mean I am ill-equipped to comment on it."

"Like hell it does."

"I have been keeping a closer eye on you and your children than you realize."

Jay looked at her skeptically before turning to Shego, choosing to ignore Margo.

"What brings you home, Saoirse?" he asked gruffly. Shego bristled under his tone.

"Jay," Miriam repeated.

"You can't think that just because you are excused from all your crimes and warrants that you can just come home and expect things to be the way they were. You're smarter than that."

"It wasn't my decision to come here!" Shego snapped. "Trust me!"

"Both of you: shut up," Margo said, her voice rising and sounding more emotional than normal. Jay and Shego complied, but they remained staring daggers at each other. "Now," Margo said, recollecting herself, "I realize and can understand and appreciate that my and Saoirse's presence here is not the most welcome of surprises. However, in light of recent events, coming to Go Park was necessary."

"What recent events?" Jay queried.

Margo ignored him and carried on: "Jay, I apologize for being distant. After some certain life choices I made, I figured it was for the best. Perhaps it still is, but those choices require my attendance here right now. At home. I am sorry for any pain or grief I might have caused you, Miriam, or your children. Please believe me when I say: I thought I was doing the right thing. I did not want to complicate your lives further."

Jay stared at his sister, taken aback by her succinct apology. He knew her to be a genuine person, albeit somewhat self-entitled.

"What have you been up to?" he asked slowly.

Margo's eyes remained locked on his, her face utterly expressionless.

"For almost twenty years, Stephen and I have been running a secret vigilante program. Much like Global Justice or the CIA, although not as ethically restricted."

What little color was in Jay's face drained completely. As if it wasn't enough that his only daughter was a criminal, now his sister was admitting to some sort of corruptible assault on the judicial system. Had his whole family gone nuts? Behind him, Miriam's full lips had gone thin, as her mouth became a worried line.

The room was silent for a minute or two before Jay once again turned to Shego and said, "You're continuing to throw your life away? After you get pardoned from all crimes, you seek out more trouble to get into?" He gestured angrily at Margo. Before Shego could defend herself, Margo interjected.

"To be fair, Saoirse never sought me out. Stephen and I had Derek and John-Paul pick up her and the doctor at their hotel room in Washington D.C."

Just as he was about to ask who the hell Derek and John-Paul were, the phrase 'their hotel room' distracted Jay. He once again turned to Shego, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"What?"

"Dad, it was a suite."

"Are you sleeping with that man?" Jay raged, ignoring Shego's words. She felt her fingertips spark and she balled her hands into fists, trying to keep them from igniting in anger. The knots that had formed in her stomach upon first seeing her father melted, as her insides grew hot like lava. In an instant, Shego was sick of her father being embarrassed and disappointed by her. Even after saving the goddamn world he still was pissed at her. Now she was going to get a lecture from him on men? She thought not . . .

"Yes! I am!" she yelled back. "I'm twenty-five, I've been on my own for the last five years, I'll do what and_ who _I want!"

All at once, her dissolving inhibitions about her and Drakken seemed to magically go 'poof!'. Even in the face of her boiling father, she felt no need to deny her attraction to her employer. Why should she? She was an adult and so was he. She had known Drakken for years. He was her best friend. Yes, they got at each other's throats every now and again, but what pair didn't? She didn't care if her dad didn't approve; it wouldn't change her feelings. She loved that stupid blue doofus.

Shego's heart skipped a beat as she thought of that. She still needed to tell him. In the flurry of travelling and his questionable mood, she had not thought of breaching the topic again.

After a few moments of sputtering in ire, Jay asked, "How old is he?"

"Forty-four," Shego answered, placing her hands on her hips. She was beginning to relish the amount of discomfort she was causing her father. Did she dare go for the kill?

"He has a kid, too," she added, a fleeting smirk tugging at her lips.

Jay looked like he was about to grab his left arm and keel over on the floor. His mustache was quivering in fury and his eyes were bulging.

"Enough, Saoirse," Margo said finally. "Calm down, Jay. She's just trying to make you angry."

"Well it's working!"

"Jay," Miriam cooed, taking her husband's arm and guiding him to the couch. She sat him down and turned back to Shego. "Saoirse, I've already told you that I fully support any of your decisions. But, think about it, are you ready for the responsibility of being a step-mother figure?"

"Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem," Shego replied nonchalantly. "His daughter's already grown. How old is lovely lady, Aunt Margo?"

Margo blinked exasperatedly at her niece. "Twenty-two."

Jay shot up from his seat. "So not only are you involved with a man nearly twice your age – not only to mention, just a few younger than your mother and me – but he has a daughter that is only three years younger than you?"

Shego paused for a moment, sarcastically looking up at the ceiling in thought and placing her index finger against her lips. "Yup."

* * *

After Margo, Miriam, Jay, and Shego disappeared, the rest of the Gordon family and their guests silently waited in and around the dining room. The awkwardness suddenly escalated as the shouting match between Shego and Jay carried throughout the house. The subject about whom they were arguing was absolutely clear and all eyes looked over to Drakken. He covered his blushing face with his hands and tried his very best to become invisible. Of course, it didn't work.

Hego glared at the doctor, while his brothers looked sickened at the thought of _him_ and Shego. Everyone else, for the most part, did their best not to snicker and chide. Only Ronan tried to ignore the mounting discomfiture, once again flicking her cigarette lighter open and closed repeatedly.

From across the house, there was a loud 'bang' of a door being flung open and Jay strode back through the living room and front hall, into the dining room, his eyes fixed on Drakken. Behind him, Shego, Miriam, and Margo closely followed.

"Dad!" Shego called.

Jay chose not to hear her. Instead he kept striding forward, muscles tensing the longer he stared at the man messing around with his daughter. Upon seeing Jay barrel towards him, Drakken's arms flew up to his face in preparation for the blow that was surely to come. However, just before Jay got within arm's length of the scientist, John-Paul stepped between the two.

Jay stopped and stared up at the giant who was looking down at him with calm eyes. Shego brazenly stepped around her father and stood next to J.P.

"Save your anger for those who deserve it," J.P. said.

"Yeah," Shego agreed, "I'm the only one who gets to kick his blue butt around. Same thing goes for Kimmie over there."

"Jay," Miriam called from the dining room's doorway. He turned to look at his wife and his stomach fell a bit at the look on her face; he knew he was in trouble. Miriam discreetly pointed to left and headed down the hallway towards the kitchen. Grudgingly, he followed her.

Once in the kitchen, Miriam turned back to her husband. "What are you thinking?"

Jay squared his shoulders, saying, "You can't honestly be okay with this."

"I do not even know why your sister and Saoirse are here," Miriam reminded him. "We haven't been told yet. If you would just relax and be hospitable, we could sort this whole thing out."

"That's not what I meant, Mimi. You don't have any opinion on our daughter seeing a man that is nearly as old as we are?"

"Jay, I swear to God, if you do anymore to upset Saoirse and drive her away from us again, there will be Hell to pay," Miriam hissed. "We cannot decide who Saoirse spends her time with. I am surprised you even think you have a say in the matter. She would not commit herself to someone who was not worth it.

"To be fair, we have no legs to stand on when it comes to 'traditional' relationships: we had Henry when we were nineteen and got married a year later. Convention has never been this family's 'thing'."

Jay looked at his wife, his face softening. Sighing, he let his muscles relax. He knew she was right. As upset he was about Saoirse's life choices, she was still his little girl and he loved her. He hated seeing her run away to revel in a life of villainy, especially when he and her brothers worked for the side of good. Jay was never very good at communicating his emotions, and in an attempt to convey to his daughter how much she had hurt her family; he ended up yelling at her. There was no doubt that he was angry with her, but it was good to see her again.

Jay took a careful couple of steps towards Miriam and murmured: "I'm sorry I lost my temper."

"You will apologize?"

"Yes."

"Good."

With that, the husband and wife left the kitchen and went back to the dining room. Rooke was sitting at the head of the table, Margo standing dutifully behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Jay took the seat opposite to Rooke, Miriam taking the vacant chair to his right. The rest of the Gordons and the guests haphazardly seated themselves in the remaining chairs, or stood around the room. Shego stayed next to Drakken's side, her hand gripping his with more strength than necessary; he could feel his fingers beginning to go numb.

Rooke was the first to speak: "It is good to see you again Jay, Henry, Mel, boys." He nodded to each of the Gordon siblings as he addressed them. The brothers exchanged slightly bewildered glances before Rooke carried on, "Before we begin, please allow me to introduce my team: Derek, Sutton, John-Paul, Angela, and Ronan."

He gestured to each person as he said his or her name. All, except Ronan, acknowledged the Gordons in some fashion as their name was rattled off. As Jay's eyes fell on Ronan, he realized that this was the daughter Saoirse had spoken of earlier. The cut and angles of her face were too similar to the doctor's for her not to be his child.

"We also have a few others with us today," Rooke continued. "Most of you already know Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable," Kim and Ron waved meekly at the Go brothers. "These two off to the side are Global Justice agents Will Du and Minka Carlisle. They have been . . . assigned to our team as extra precaution in keeping Kim, Ron, Drakken and Saoirse safe."

"Safe?" Miriam questioned, her eyes widening with worry.

Rooke stopped for a moment, deciding whether or not to recognize Miriam's concern. Drumming his fingers on the table, he said: "The recent invasion has caused more problems than the general public realizes. The fact that Kim, Ron, Drakken and Saoirse have had first-hand experience with the aliens put them in a surprisingly vulnerable position.

"I am sorry to say that our visit is not under happy circumstances. I assume you all have heard about the disaster that occurred at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant the day before yesterday, correct?"

There was a flurry of ascending mutters and nods before Rooke continued, "Well, I know Margo has told you two," he gestured to Miriam and Jay, "So I will inform the younger generations who are unaware: Your aunt and I run a clandestine operation. Our goals and initiatives are similar to that of Global Justice or Team Go, but we mainly deal with more gritty and dangerous situations – "

"Excuse me," Hego said, "but Team Go deals with nothing but dangerous situations. Numerous times have our efforts saved Go City from certain doom."

Choosing to ignore Hego's statement, Rooke said: "My team and I were at Chernobyl, and for the past week we have been investigating the disappearance of Dr. Artemis Vrishkov. While at the disaster site, it was confirmed that Vrishkov's kidnappers and the organization behind Pripyat's destruction are one in the same."

"Are you telling me," Mego drawled, "that the earthquake in the Ukraine was purposely caused? How can any one person bury an entire city?"

"We are still unsure of that," Rooke admitted. "However, given the alien invasion and the disappearance of the world's leading xenologist, it seems plausible."

"It seems like a stretch to me," Mego chided, folding his arms across his chest.

"No one asked what you thought, Mel." Shego pointed out.

Unfazed, Rooke continued with his story. "The organization that arranged the kidnapping of Vrishkov, the attack on Chernobyl, and the hits on these four," he pointed to Kim, Ron, Shego and Drakken, "are not well known, but their name will mean more to you than most people."

His comment was directed at Miriam. At first her face remained attentive, then, as his words sank in, it went limp and the color drained from her cheeks. Her lips fell open slightly but no words came out. Jay watched his wife carefully, unsure what had her so gobsmacked.

"Who's after them?" Wally and Will voiced from a corner of the dining room.

"Lucas Cutting and his Black Rabbits," Rooke answered, his eyes still locked on Miriam. Upon hearing the names, Miriam brought a shaky hand to her face and tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. When it was clear that she was not going to divulge anything, Rooke explained further, "The Black Rabbits are the reason Miriam left Leiriakkesh. In the wake of their upheaval from Tajikistan in the late 1950s, Cutting began funding the Leirian Anarchists. It wasn't long before he had sunk his fingers in deep enough to become their invisible tyrant."

Kim adjusted herself against the wall on which she was leaning. Having heard a similar story in D.C. the day before, she was not as inclined to listen. However, her eyes shifted over to Miriam and she saw the bleak emptiness behind the woman's blue-green eyes; a jarring, tangible realization of what Cutting's actions were capable of. The Gordon siblings and their father had all turned to watch Miriam as Rooke spoke.

"Now it appears as though Cutting has acquired himself a weapon that will help him spread his totalitarian reach past Leiriakkesh and across the globe. Chernobyl was a test," he concluded.

"Why are you here?" Miriam finally asked. "What do we have to do with it?"

Rooke's grey eyes crinkled. Margo spoke before he could: "Angela – who is our resident hacker – has been keeping close tabs on Cutting's activities and correspondences. Aside from the mole he has within Global Justice, which is worrisome enough, he has recently expressed interest in the comet catastrophe from 1990."

Miriam's eyes, which had grown hooded and watery as Rooke carried out his explanation, suddenly snapped open, fiery with instinctive protection.

"Why?" she questioned sharply. "What does he want?"

Margo shrugged. "I assume that the alien invasion has inspired him to take his global domination tactics to an extraterrestrial level. Considering he's most likely using some Lorwardian technology that fell to earth, he's probably toying with the idea of increasing his power by utilizing other galactic forces."

"I appreciate your preemptive actions Aunt Margo and Uncle Stephen," Hego said. "I can assure you, though, that Team Go is not going to be hoodwinked by any villain."

"It's not a question of being tricked," Minka corrected. "It is a matter of being forced."

Hego turned to look at the agent. She stared back with steady and serious eyes. He decided not to respond to her comment and turned back to the table. "Regardless," said he, "I am sure that if Cutting comes a knockin' we'll be able to handle him."

Kim saw Margo's lips purse in skepticism, but she didn't say anything.

* * *

The meeting with the Gordons lasted for a bit longer. There were questions that Rooke skillfully answered in vague, but appropriate, responses. Then there was the matter of the Gordons safety. As Margo had conveyed to Shego the night before, the fact that Cutting wanted Team Go for their stellar super powers was one thing, but the more troublesome twist was that their mother was an escapee of the Leirian Revolution. Neither Rooke, Margo or Miriam said it out right, but that put the family in even greater peril.

Jay was altogether weary of his sister's insistence that they needed to figure out an escape plan. If Cutting were to somehow locate the Gordons specifically, fighting back was not an option; that's what Rooke had said. Especially now since the Black Rabbits' leader appeared to already have one alien weapon. Whatever that was.

Hego tried to argue that Cutting would not think to look for Jay and Miriam Gordon in Go Park. There was nothing tying them to Team Go, so why should his parents be forced to hide away? After another moment, he also came up with the idea that if there was no Team Go to find in Go City, then that might deter Cutting into giving up on locating them. Rooke shot that theory to the ground.

"Cutting and I are the same age," he said. "That means he was about sixteen when he began leading the Leirian Anarchists. Someone that young who has the dedication and charisma to dictate the actions of an entire people will not give up so readily."

There was a brief flurry of questions on how someone so young could possibly have the mental, much less financial, means to fund an autocratic revolution. Rooke waved the queries aside; he didn't know. He didn't know where Cutting came from, where or how he had come by his fortune. As far as he was concerned those were superfluous facts that just were, and it was fruitless to deal with them.

After an hour of sitting about the dining room, discussing the current dilemma they found themselves in, Margo suggested they take a break. As of that moment, there was nothing they could do. She could see that Miriam was starting to get upset with the talk about Leiriakkesh and the Black Rabbits, and it wasn't necessary to grieve her.

Miriam politely excused herself and went up to the master bedroom to lie down. After a few indecisive moments, Jay followed her. Shortly, the large group randomly dispersed. Shego, still clutching Drakken's hand, flew up the stairs and into her childhood bedroom. The Gordon twins showed the Possible twins to the backyard where they could through a football around. Mego told Hego that he needed to be back in the city. Hego sighed and turned to his Aunt and Uncle.

"I have to be going myself," he told them. "I have a staff meeting at four."

"It's not gonna be a problem for us to go off on our own, is it?" Mego asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Rooke stated simply. "But I doubt I will be successful in deterring you, so you might as well go. Just be viligent."

"Yea-huh," Mego coughed, getting up from the table.

Before Hego followed his younger brother, he eyed his Aunt and Uncle with an apprehensive look, chewing his lower lip. Finally he said, "I don't know if you'd be interested – in light of this pending crisis – but Go City's Summer Festival Series starts tonight; Mom, Dad and the twins usually go. I'll be there, too. You all are more than welcome to come."

After a beat, Rooke smiled warmly at his nephew. "Thank you, Henry. That sounds lovely."

And with that, Hego and Mego bid Kim, Ron, and the rest good-bye and left.

"It wouldn't be unlike Cutting to make a display of himself," Margo said quietly to her husband.

"I know."

* * *

Miriam was lying on her side, knees tucked into herself, her dark hair covering her face. Jay stood at the door a moment before stepping into the room and shutting it behind him. Miriam did not give any sign that she knew he was there, remaining in her fetal position. Slowly, Jay approached the bed. Climbing onto the sheets, he carefully placed himself just behind his wife, touching her arm delicately. Miriam reached around and grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

"You okay, Mimi?"

Miriam hummed an indiscernible response, rubbing her thumb across the tops of his fingers. Jay laid his head against her shoulder and they stayed like that for a while. From the open bedroom window, they could hear their twins playing with the Possible's youngest. The boys' laughs and hollers floated into the room, nostalgic reminders of simpler times past when their kids would spend the summer running around the house and lawn.

"I contacted Margo and Stephen," Miriam said suddenly.

"What?"

"Not today, I mean," she verified. "I reached out to Stephen in 1985."

Jay blinked, trying to comprehend what his wife was telling him. "Why?" he asked.

Miriam paused, breathing steadily through her nose. "I wanted him to help in the Leirian Revolution. It had been going on for several years, and was coming to a head in the mid-eighties. I remembered you talking about Margo and her husband working in the Peace Corps, so I thought they might be able to help."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Miriam shrugged. "I did not want to bring my family into that mess. I had managed to leave it; I didn't want it to find its way into our lives. But when the fighting and the oppression of the people grew worse than ever, I couldn't stand it. I telephoned Margo while you were away at work."

Jay was silent, absorbing the information. He had barely talked to his sister since she married Stephen. They had exchanged the casual e-mail, letter and phone call; all their relations purely superficial, obligatory sibling connections. Margo had visited them a couple times in the past years, but all her visits were short and sporadic. He was surprised to hear that his wife, who never seemed that close to his sister, had reached out to her and not to him.

"I didn't ask for specifics, and neither Margo nor Stephen gave me any. But in 1986, just as the Leirian Revolution had fallen into permanent favor of the Anarchists, Stephen wrote to me saying he had to abandon Leiriakkesh."

Miriam's voice cracked as she finished her story and Jay gripped her arm lovingly. A sigh rattle from Miriam's throat and she tucked her chin into her chest, trying to stem off the tears that were beginning to pool in her eyes.

After a while, Jay whispered, "You could've told me."

"I know, but I did not want to. I don't like talking about Leiriakkesh, and I know you do not like talking about Margo or Stephen. It did not seem productive to speak to you about it. Besides, _I _wasn't doing anything about it; Margo and Stephen were." There was a pause as Miriam adjusted herself so that she was facing her husband. "Now this is all coming to light again. I have spent a good deal of my life trying to keep my family away from Leiriakkesh, and now we are being sucked back in."

"We're not going anywhere, Mimi," Jay told her firmly. "I don't care what Margo or Stephen say, our family will not be put in danger."

Miriam shook her head. "Jay, we are already in danger. Don't you understand? Avoiding Margo and Stephen's warnings will not magically make us safe again. If this man who is after Saoirse funds the Leirian Anarchists, and is apparently behind the destruction in the Ukraine, finds the kids . . . if he realizes where I am from . . . "

Miriam broke off, her voice lost in her throat. Jay pulled her to his chest as Miriam's breathing became shallow and staggered.

"I'll talk to Margo about it," he whispered, trying to sooth her. "We'll figure it out. He won't touch you or the kids."

Miriam clung to Jay's shirt, waiting for her panic attack to subside.

* * *

Once Shego had shut the door of her former bedroom, she immediately jumped onto her bed – which Miriam had kept clean and covered all these years – and let out a sound that was half sigh and half groan. Drakken paused, a bit stunned by being flown up the stairs so quickly. He then became very aware of the strangeness of his surroundings. Drakken had only ever known Shego as a villain. It wasn't a couple years into their association that he was made aware of her heroic past. Even hearing about Team Go from Shego did not fully solidify the concept of her working for the side of good, but standing in her childhood room Drakken was overcome with the realization of how little he actually knew his partner.

The room was decidedly neutral in color. Instead of her typical green and black motif, the walls, carpet and curtains were complementing shades of cream and sand. Even the bedspread Shego was sprawled across was a blushing rose color; it was pretty. The only things that hinted towards Shego's abrasive behavior were the multitude of rock band posters plastered to the walls. Besides her choice in artwork, the only pieces that caught Drakken's eye was of series of shelves on the far wall. He walked over to them and inspected to myriad of medals, trophies and photographs on them.

The medals, ribbons, and small trophies were from different martial art events: Jiu-Jitsu, Aikido, Ninjutsu, and many more. The few small picture frames held photos of a pre-teen Shego with a couple of other girls Drakken assumed to be her gaggle of friends. Upon seeing the younger version of his partner, he nearly gagged in surprise. Shego – his beautiful, drool-inducing, tough-as-nails femme fatale – had been a total nerd! Her teeth were bracketed with bright silver braces; her long black hair needed a good conditioning: it was dry looking and frizzy. Her gangly limbs and big feet stuck awkwardly out of her ill-fitting clothes. The tee shirt she wore was proudly emblazoned with the logo of Captain Constellation. Drakken smiled to himself. Perhaps he and Shego had more in common than he had originally thought.

"What're you smiling about?" Shego asked suspiciously, sitting up.

Drakken knew that if he told Shego he was smirking at her he would receive a face full of green plasma. So he said: "Nothing."

Shego looked at him skeptically, but couldn't help but grin a little at the adoring look he was giving her. He went over to the bed and sat besides her, folding his hands in his lap.

"Sorry my dad tried to take your head off," Shego said.

Drakken shrugged, trying to indicate that it was no big deal. "Will he come around?"

Shego snorted. "Not likely, Dr. D. But that's okay. We don't need his approval."

His heart tapped a bit at her use of the word 'We'.

"I wonder how long we'll be here," Drakken pondered aloud.

"Ugh. Not long, I hope," Shego groaned, falling back onto the pillows.

They sat beside each other for a while. Eventually, Shego laid her legs across Drakken's lap, and he casually placed a hand on her knee. Lazily, he tilted his head against the wall, staring at a point on the ceiling. The pair enjoyed their relaxed intimacy until there was a knock at the bedroom door.

"Saoirse?"

Shego sat up again and wrinkled her nose at her father's voice. "What?"

"May I speak with you, please?"

A disgruntled grimace colored Shego's face. She glanced over at Drakken, who jerked his head at the room's entrance. Shego rolled her eyes, swung her legs off of Drakken's lap and stomped towards the door. She opened it, looking at her father expectantly. Jay cleared his throat, his eyes briefly flicking to Drakken who was still sitting on the bed, and then stood aside, indicating that Shego should follow him. Again, Shego expertly sighed and rolled her eyes, stepping out of the room and into the hall. She tried closing the door behind her, but Jay placed a large hand against the wood, keeping it propped open. She shot her father an angry glance and continued a couple steps down the hall. Before following her, Jay gave Drakken a watchful look, which made the doctor shiver.

"What?" Shego asked again as her father approached.

Jay didn't respond. Instead he crooked a finger at her as he continued to walk down the hall and towards the stairs. Grumbling, Shego trotted after him. The pair travelled down the stairs through the hall near the kitchen and descended down another flight of stairs into the basement. Jay strode across the large cement room to a workbench at the far end. He flicked on the light and pulled the stool out from under the table, propping it firmly a couple feet away from him. He looked over at Shego and then turned his attention to the Glock 9MM and cleaning tools on the table. Not bothering to mask her exasperation, Shego trudged over to the stool and sat down.

At first, neither one of them said anything. Jay went about cleaning the semiautomatic and Shego sat in a fashion similar to that of a five-year-old who had been scolded.

"I'm sorry that I got angry earlier," Jay finally croaked in a voice so low it was barely audible. Shego threw her father a pervasive look before snorting and folding her arms exaggeratedly across her chest. Jay sighed as he delicately threaded a wire-bristle brush through the barrel of his gun.

"I've thought, for a long time, what I would say to you if you ever came back home," he continued. "I don't know if you realize how much your leaving affected the family, Saoirse."

Shego glared at a spot on the floor about two feet in front of her.

"Your mother couldn't get out of bed for over a week. Henry, Will and Wally were convinced that it was something they had done. Mel pretty much shut down."

Shego tried to stifle the growing rock of guilt solidifying in her stomach. She kept her face icy and distant.

"I kept thinking if there was anything I could've done; if it was something I had done, that I hadn't done – "

"I get it." Shego snapped suddenly. "I'm a shitty daughter."

"No you're not, Saoirse," Jay admonished. "We just didn't give each other what we needed. Your mother and I shouldn't have let Henry pressure you into joining Team Go. Maybe if you hadn't been a hero things would've been different – "

"Doubt it."

"Saoirse, please," Jay said, setting down his task and looking at her earnestly. "I'm sorry. You're right. You're a full-grown woman whose been making her own decisions for a long time. I by no means support the things you have done in the past, but . . . you're my little girl."

Shego sneered at the term. Although, it was true: Shego knew her parents wanted a girl, and they were insistent on trying until they got one. The twins weren't planned, but they were happy mistake. Until Shego reached her unruly preteen and teen years, she had indeed been Daddy's little girl. Jay did not intentionally favor his daughter above his sons, but even he couldn't deny that Saoirse could easily wind him around her tiny fingers. When she had left, it hit him harder than he ever let on. He needed to be stoic and strong for his family, especially his wife. But it took every fiber of his physical and mental being not to curl up in bed next to Miriam and mourn the 'loss' of their daughter.

After a moment, Shego said, "Look, Dad, I know that you and Mom and Henry would've preferred if I stayed on Team Go in Go City, but I . . . just couldn't."

She couldn't explain it beyond that. She had been massively unhappy near the end of her association with Team Go. She didn't know why, but she couldn't just do the hero-thing anymore. She viewed the villains they put away in a different light than she her brothers did. They were free. Able to do whatever they wanted; morals and consciousness be damned. And she was stuck. Stuck in a city she didn't particularly care for. Stuck under the expectant gazes of her father and oldest brother. Near the end, she felt like she couldn't breath. Every inhale she took was a challenge, as if she was trying to draw air through a coffee-stirrer. She needed to get out. And once she completed a fast-track child development course from Illinois State, she did. Without a word, without a good-bye.

"I'm sorry," she added, "for the way I left." She felt her eyes nearly cross as she apologized; she had been doing that a lot lately.

Jay nodded jerkily. After another moment of lingering silence, he asked, "What are you planning on doing next? Now that you have been absolved of all your crimes?"

Shego pursed her thick lips in an annoyed fashion. "I don't know. Being bull-rushed by Aunt Margo has been rather distracting. I don't know what Drakken had in mind after the awards ceremony."

Jay made an involuntary rumbling sound at the back of his throat at the sound of Drakken's name.

"What?" Shego demanded.

"I would hope you are independent enough and have enough self-esteem to make your own decisions on what to do with this new lease on life. I don't want you to through your life away for some guy."

"Dad," Shego punctuated, "you're doing it again."

Sighing through his nose, Jay muttered, "Sorry."

Shego watched her father carefully as he went about cleaning his gun. The smell of the polish whisked her back to when she was a small child and she would sit where she was now, practicing her reading as her father cleaned guns or rifles. Her heart softened inexplicably at the memory.

"Do you remember the story of The Princess and The Thief? I used to practice reading it down here," Shego prompted.

Jay put down the gun and stared at the corkboard in front of him, thinking. "I do," he finally said.

"Well, remember in the story that the Princess and her father, the King, were really close? Then when it came time for the Princess to take a suitor, the King threw a big party that all the eligible bachelors came to. A Thief impersonated a young duke of a neighboring kingdom so that he could get into the castle and steal stuff," Shego recounted. "But before the Thief could leave the party, the princess demanded a dance from him and they ended up falling in love. At first, the King was pissed that his daughter had given herself to a criminal. But when the Princess got in trouble with an evil wizard who had a grudge against the King, the thief saved her. And the kingdom. Remember?"

Jay nodded.

"The Thief wasn't who the King wanted for his daughter at first, but after the crisis was over he could see that the Thief loved the Princess, and she loved him. The King realized that even though the thief didn't fit the conventional prince mold, there was no one better for his Princess."

A moment of silence followed Shego's synopsis of the story. She waited expectantly as her father continued to stare at the wall. Finally he turned to look at her. There was a startling glimmer in his eyes.

"You love him?"

Shego was taken aback. She hadn't meant to infer that. She hadn't meant to say it out loud. Her mouth gaped as she stared wide-eyed at her father. She realized that she had been silent for far too long to deny it.

"I do," she admitted. "He's a goofy idiot, but he's my goofy idiot. He'd do anything for me – he saved me and the boys from Aviarius one time – and I'd do anything for him."

Jay listened to his daughter carefully. He took note of the sincere look on her face and tone of her voice. If there was one thing he knew about Saoirse, she was never one to speak about emotions frivolously. She would not pretend to feel something she didn't genuinely feel. If she said she loved someone, then she did; she wouldn't say it to annoy him and she wouldn't say it to prove some kind of point. She loved Drakken.

Jay grinned despite himself. "I'm glad you're here, Saoirse. It's good to see you."

Shego returned the smile, saying: "It's good to see you too, Dad."

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you liked it! Puh-leez leave a review!


	16. A Rat

**A/N:** Chapter 16, as promised! Thanks to everyone who has thus far reviewed chapter 15. I truly appreciate you guys taking the time to give me feedback. You are awesome.

As incentive, I will be giving complementary brain bleach for reviewers of this chapter. You might need. You'll know the part when you get to it ;)

I never thought I'd be the kind of writer to explicitly use songs in my work, but as it turns out, I am. The song used in this chapter is called 'Brand New' and it was written by a very talented singer/song writer out of Rockford, IL named Emily Hurd. Guys, seriously. She's great. You should really check her out. I wasn't able to find the song online, but you can find 'Brand New' and all of her other songs and albums on iTunes.

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Kim Possible or anything related to it. Boo.

* * *

After Shego had been whisked away by her father, Drakken returned to inspecting the set of shelves with the medals and pictures on them. As he eyed the rest of photos, he didn't notice Miriam quietly step into the room. As she came to stand beside him, Drakken jumped a bit and looked over at his new companion. She gave him a brief smile before she, too, canvassed the items on the shelves.

"Thank you for watching over Saoirse all these years," Miriam said finally.

Unable to think of anything else to say, Drakken quietly replied: "You're welcome."

"I know Saoirse thinks she can be on her own – and to some extent that is true – but she has never gone for very long with out needing someone. I'm glad it was you," she concluded. The story her sons had told her about Saoirse's mad scientist employer coming to their aide against Aviarius had always stuck with her. The villainous world was not known for its kindness, even amongst itself, and the fact that Dr. Drakken had put all his nefarious deeds aside to help his sidekick spoke more about him than Miriam thought he realized.

Drakken did not know what to say to that, so he cleared his throat and stared at the shelves. A few moments past before Miriam spoke again.

"I understand that you have a daughter of you own."

Drakken felt the familiar sink in his stomach at her words. He sighed and admitted: "Yes. It's a fairly recent revelation."

"Oh. Sursh – Saoirse did not mention that."

"I found out a little over a week ago."

"That is a lot of change in short period of time," Miriam observed. "First saving the world, then being awarded for your efforts, then becoming a father."

"I don't think I would call myself _that,_" Drakken corrected bitterly. He stopped looking at the photos, instead glaring at the wall in front of him.

"Oh," Miriam uttered, embarrassed. She didn't know that it was such a sore spot. "I'm sorry for whatever difficulties you are having with her," she said. "I understand better than most how it feels."

Drakken glanced over at Miriam, who fixed him with a sweet and kind gaze.

"Under all the bruising on her face, I can see she's very pretty."

"Oh. Er – thank you," Drakken said, unsure what to say to that. A strange pride briefly expanded in his chest.

Miriam could see in his face that the relationship between father and daughter was strained; she could tell because he looked much the same as Jay had when Saoirse had left. She put a tender hand on his shoulder and said: "It will be all right in the end. Ronan will come back."

Drakken stood, rooted by bewilderment. He watched Miriam as she exited the room and disappeared. The way she had said Ronan's name echoed in his head. Her accent did beautiful things to the word. He stared at the place where she had stood, thinking about what she had said.

_It will be all right in the end._

If that was the case, when was 'the end'? Would Ronan become kinder towards him at the end of this mission? Or did 'the end' refer to something better defined and absolute? Something like death, perhaps? Drakken shook his head lightly, pressing that subject out of his mind. He didn't want to think about that.

He wished he didn't care so much.

* * *

Ronan and Sutton had taken up a step on the porch after the family meeting ended. In a rare moment of quiet and rest, Ronan sat between Sutton's legs, resting her head on his shoulder. He had wrapped his arms around her thin torso, careful not to squeeze her bandaged ribs. His back was propped up by one of the banisters of the steps. They sat, talking and watching the people on the street. They didn't know what time it was when Shego came through the front screen door. She looked much calmer than she had in the past couple of days. Walking across the porch, she took a seat on the step across from the couple.

"You seem to be doing better," Sutton noted.

"I need to talk to you," Shego stated, her green eyes fixed on Ronan's blood shot amber ones.

Ronan cocked her pierced brow. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What about?"

"Drakken."

The amused smirk that had been growing across Ronan's mouth disappeared as her face fell. "What about him?"

"C'mon Super Genius, don't play dumb," Shego chided. "You know what."

Ronan felt Sutton chuckle behind her; she nudged him in the ribs.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion on the matter," Ronan growled.

"You didn't. This is free advice and a request."

"Woo-hoo."

"Extra 'hoo'," Shego added with a grin. She adjusted herself on the step, thinking how she wanted to start this. She went with the direct approach. "You're being too hard on Drakken, Princess."

"Don't call me that."

"Which doesn't make any sense," Shego barreled on. "You told me that you wanted to find him to see if he would be as disappointed in you as your mom 'allegedly' is," she threw snide air quotes around the adverb. "Well Cupcake, you're not doing yourself any favors by biting his head off and rejecting him."

Ronan didn't say anything. She stared at Shego, her face cool but her eyes flashing in infuriation. Not caring, Shego carried on.

"Frankly, it doesn't make a damn difference to me what you decide to do. Just make a decision and stick with it; get to know him, don't get to know him. It's no skin off my nose. Just stop fucking around with his head. Your dad is not the best when it comes to dealing with emotional flakes. He needs some stability when it comes to that. Otherwise," Shego said, her voice dropping to a low, annoyed octave, "he comes bitching to me. And I won't have that."

"Isn't that one of the jobs of being in a relationship?" Ronan sneered. "Listening to the other person's griping?"

"Oh yes," Shego confirmed. "But I've heard enough complaining from your dad to last a lifetime. Trust me."

"Are you done?"

"I suppose," Shego sighed, leaning back into her banister. "But, really kiddo, you should get to know him. He's a good guy. Relatively speaking."

"Don't call me 'kiddo'," Ronan requested. "You're only three years older than me."

Shego raised a questioning eyebrow at her, "Do you think that's weird?"

Ronan shrugged indifferently. "Maybe a little. But who cares? Good for Drakken. Get that twenty-five-year-old tail."

Shego couldn't help it. She smiled.

* * *

The Possibles and Stoppables, along with the two GJ agents, were sitting on the back patio, watching the youngest Gordons and Possibles toss around a football. Kim glanced down at the Kimmunicator strapped to her wrist. It was a little after three o'clock. Sighing, she cradled her chin in her hands. They had been sitting idly for over two hours. As nice as it was to have a break after several hours of consecutive travelling, Kim was beginning to get antsy. She spoke with Ron, Will and Minka on and off, although she began to glance over at the back door in an increasing fashion; waiting for Rooke or Margo to come out and deliver some news as to their next move.

"Have you spoken with Director since D.C.?" Kim suddenly asked Will.

Looking over from his conversation with Minka, he said, "I've tried calling her, but I haven't been able to reach her."

"She's probably doing a lot of damage control," Minka added sadly. There was a soft buzzing that emanated from her pocket, and she pulled out the communicating device she had been utilizing through out the mission.

"Is it Director?" Will asked urgently.

Minka shook her head. She read the message and deftly typed a response. "It's my uncle," she explained. "He lives in Go City, actually. I sent him a message earlier today, saying I would be in town. He wants me to meet up with him for dinner."

Will gave her a questioning look and a smirk.

"I know it's not conventional for an agent to deviate from a current mission, but we are in a bit of a stalemate right now. Unless we actually hear from Director, or Rooke finally decides what it is he wants to do, we have nothing going on," Minka reasoned. "Not only is he my uncle, he's my godfather and I haven't seen him since entering GJAA. I don't think it would be an issue if I ducked out for an hour or two to go have dinner with him."

"No, I don't suppose that would be too bad," Will admitted.

"Besides," Kim added, "we can reach you if need be. You should go see your family."

Minka smiled at her. "I don't need to leave right away. In a bit, though."

* * *

"There you are. Where'd you go?" Drakken questioned as he came back through Shego's bedroom door.

He had gone wandering around the house when she hadn't returned in a timely manner. As he passed through the rooms and halls of the downstairs, he ran into Margo and Rooke sitting at the kitchen counter. They gave him greetings and smiles as he continued through the house in search of his partner. As he passed through the front hall, he saw Ronan, Karen and Sutton on the porch through the hazy screen door. He could also hear Derek, Angie and John-Paul outside as well. Quickening his pace, he made his way through the rest of the first floor. He saw the Possible, Stoppables, and Global Justice agents in the back yard. Still no Shego. He wondered where her father had whisked her off. Not knowing what to do with himself, he meandered back up stairs, taking note of the photos placed on the wall along side the staircase. When he got back to Shego's room, he saw that she had returned. She was standing at the open closet thumbing through old clothes. She turned to look at him when he spoke.

"Oh. Hey Dr. D," she responded before looking back to the clothes. At the moment, she was holding onto a lacey, eggshell colored sundress.

"What did your father want?"

"Oh you know," Shego sighed, unconcerned, " ' I'm disappointed, but it's good to see you', 'I don't want you throwing your life away for some old guy'."

"Hey."

Shego snickered, taking the dress from its hanger. "D, just because our partnership has changed, doesn't mean I'm not gonna tease you." Eying him with glimmering tantalization, she said, "Good news, though. I don't think Dad hates you as much as he did before."

"I don't need to be liked, Shego," Drakken scoffed unconvincingly. "But how do you know?"

Shego stopped herself. The only reason Jay was no longer completely irate with Drakken was because he knew Shego loved him. Drakken didn't know that though. Despite her callous and uncaring attitude, deep, _deep _down she wanted that moment – the one where she would lay down all her inhibitions and mean reputation – to be a special one. She certainly did not want it to be in her old family home, a place that held very few happy memories for her. It wasn't the right time.

"I – er – just got a sense from him," she lied. "Just some stupid unspoken realization sort of thing."

"Oh. Okay, then." Drakken muttered. He felt that Shego wasn't being entirely honest with him, but he didn't feel like prying the reason out of her. "What are you doing?" he asked, pointing to the dress she was holding.

Shego shrugged. "I dunno. Just looking at some of the stuff Mom left in here."

"It's pretty," he said, looking at the dress and imagining Shego in it.

"Yeah it is. Thanks."

There was a soft knock at the door and the pair looked over to see Miriam and Margo standing there.

"Oh good," Miriam exclaimed, looking at the dress in Shego's hands, "you found the clothes. You might want to change, Saoirse, it's supposed to be warm tonight."

"So?"

"Apparently, it's the opening of Go City Summer Festival Series tonight," Margo drawled. "We've been invited to attend."

"Really?"

"_Really_, doctor," Margo stated. "Stephen and I figured we could all use a little break. Something nice and light, and a festival might be just the thing."

Drakken thought the idea was odd, but didn't question it further.

"It's almost thee-thirty," Margo continued. "We're supposed to meet Henry downtown around five."

"Great," Shego groaned.

"Saoirse," her mother said stepping forward and fingering her daughter's long hair, "why don't you let me do something with this?"

"Mom – " Shego started, but caught a reprimanding look from her aunt and feebly said: "Sure."

* * *

By 3:45, Minka had already left to meet up with her uncle. Will offered to call a cab for her, but she was adamant about taking the L trains that ran through both Chicago and Go City. There was a station not far from the Gordon residence, and she convinced Will that she would be fine.

After she left, Ron, who had been sitting next to the agent on the patio, said, "You sweet on her?"

Rufus peeped out of Ron's pocket briefly making several sweet whistling and clicking sounds.

Feigning coolness, Will cleared his throat. "She's my partner," he explained. "She was my trainee, and now we are on the same level. She's very good at what she does." Kim and Ron glanced at each other knowingly and Will frowned at them. "Agent Carlisle is perfectly capable of handling herself. It's just, in light of recent events, one can never be too cautious."

"Yeah-huh. That," Ron chimed, "and you like her!"

"Ron, that's enough," Kim chuckled, poking her boyfriend in the ribs. Will's face began to bloom beet red.

* * *

Hego's staff meeting took only about half and hour. Those things weren't usually that short, but there hadn't been any serious problems that needed addressing. No Diablo Sauce debacles, Negro Frijoles farces, or Mexy-Mushroom Wrap messes.

As Hego stepped out of the Mucho Grande Beuno Nacho that he managed, he checked his phone for messages. There was only a text from his mother saying that they would meet in Go City Park around five o'clock. Pocketing his cell, he began to walk in the direction of the Park and festival.

Jauntily walking down the busy city streets, he smiled at passers-by. He truly loved his city and the secret help he offered it. As he approached a busy intersection, he thought he saw someone familiar across the street. He blinked, adjusting his glasses and looked again. Across the way, Minka scurried down the metal steps that led from an L platform. He smiled and called out her name. She mustn't have heard him, because she continued her swift and deliberate pace down the sidewalk. She wasn't going the right way. Go City Park was in the opposite direction. Keeping an eye on her, Hego crossed the street, intent on catching up with her. He wondered why she was alone. Where was her partner, or even the rest of her party?

The sidewalks were packed with Go City citizens and tourists alike, and Hego had difficult moving his massive frame around them. He had just bumped into a group of giggling high school girls as Minka darted across the street and into an Italian Restaurant. Hego apologized to the girls, all of whom were eying his big muscles with hormone-induced lust, and jogged across the street to the establishment Minka had entered. What was she doing all the way over here?

* * *

She entered the restaurant with uncharacteristic force and determination. Whisking past the hostess, she delved into the restaurant, striding towards the back booths. The room was dimly lit but she saw the two she was intent on meeting with. Slipping around tables and chairs, she approached her destination. The older of the two gentlemen looked up as she approached.

"Minka!" Cutting cooed watching her sidle up to him and JR. "Good of you to join us."

"Don't call me that, Lucas," she said, pecking him on the cheek and taking the cushion next to him. Her voice had shifted into something darker and more sensuous. There was a mild Russian accent twirling her words.

"Alright. _Anya_, then."

"Mmm. Better," she ascended. She turned her attention to JR and greeted him. "Nice to see you, Jonathan. How's your grandmother?"

Uneasiness rippled across JR's skin as Anya fixed him with those cold hazel eyes. If he had a choice, JR would much rather be Cutting's human ottoman, rather than interact with his openly psychotic protégée at all.

"She's as fine as she can be," he answered.

"Her poor old mind is going," Anya stated, staring at him. After a moment, JR nodded. She smiled.

Anya took a moment to fill Cutting in, letting JR sit in awkward, third-wheel silence. He watched as Anya lazily took up Cutting's wine glass and drank from it. The interaction between his two superiors was truly baffling – and slightly sickening. Anya was easily young enough to be Cutting's daughter - there was forty-two age difference between them, after all. When JR had first met the two that fateful day in the trailer, that's what he thought she was: his daughter. However, in the first couple of weeks of working for the Black Rabbits, he found out that Anya was not Cutting's daughter in either the biological or adoptive sense. His new employer did not disclose how he had come to take in his ward, and JR did not ask.

For several years, Cutting and Anya conducted their relationship similar to that of parent-and-child. The only thing that made JR uncomfortable about this was that Cutting was poisoning the young girl's mind with his own twisted ideals. He wasn't sure when their relationship had taken a turn for the vulgar, but a few years into his association with the Black Rabbits JR saw something he wasn't supposed to: Upon hearing unusual sounds coming from Cutting's office, he went to investigate. Was Cutting torturing someone in his own workplace? When he reached the room's door, JR carefully opened it a crack to make sure he wasn't interrupting anything. He was.

Anya was sprawled, naked, across the marble-top desk. Cutting was on top, riding her roughly. At first, JR thought he was witnessing his employer raping his seventeen-year-old assistant, but then he heard Anya's intense, guttural moans of ecstasy. She asked – begged – him to go harder, faster. JR tried to tear his eyes away from the sight, but he couldn't. He felt his stomach twist at Anya's exulted 'Oh Gods' and 'Fuck mes'. Finally, JR was able to pull himself away from the door.

Unfortunately, that night was all he could think about when he watched Anya and Cutting interact with one other. His stomach ached with queasiness. Even now, under seemingly platonic and business conditions his insides writhed uncomfortably.

"What have you learned about Team Go?" Cutting asked, folding his hands on the table.

Anya shrugged in an unimpressed fashion. "I do not think they are a necessity to the plan. They are super humans, but they are just that: Human. Nothing special. In no way a threat to us. But I did find out something much more interesting." Anya's voice had gotten low and excited.

"Oh really? What would that be, my dear?"

"The mother. She's one of the escapees from Leiriakkesh."

Cutting blinked, momentarily lost for words. JR leaned his elbows on the table. He of course knew about Leiriakkesh and Cutting's involvement in the uprising of the Anarchists. He knew that Anya's news would somehow alter Cutting's plan, but he didn't know how yet.

"Are you sure?" Cutting asked. Anya nodded.

"So what do we do about it?" JR voiced.

Unbeknownst to the three Rabbits, Hego had stealthy slipped into the restaurant and had taken up residence behind a large fern near them. When he had first entered the restaurant, he was completely set on following Minka and asking her what she was doing. However, as he saw her interact with the two gentlemen he couldn't squelch the feeling that something was amiss. Deciding to do some spontaneous investigating, Hego took the long way around the dining room. He finally came to hide behind the false trellis and plants hiding their booth from the rest of the restaurant.

He carefully listened to the first part of their conversation, scarcely daring the breath. His heart stopped at the shift in Minka's voice and her rising pleasure at being called Anya. Hego felt his massive muscles go rigid. Minka Carlisle – _Anya_ – was the mole Rooke had mentioned earlier. Remaining still, he listened to rest of their conversation.

Cutting clucked his tongue against his teeth. "This is quite an interesting development."

"I agree," Anya said. "But JR raises a valid point: What are we to do about it? In the past fifty years, there have only been eleven escapes from Leiriakkesh. That is eleven too many."

"No doubt."

"Punishment," she declared. "They must be made examples of. All of them: her, her husband, and the children."

"Oh, they will be, my dear," Cutting said coolly. "But we mustn't forget our original plan. I believe that this progression can work in quite nicely. But we'll deal with that a bit later. I want to hear all about the Syndicate and our four, very special, friends."

Anya took another sip of wine before speaking. "Things are not going as smoothly as Rooke would like. You remember that I told you one of his agents is the prodigal daughter of Dr. Drakken?"

Cutting nodded. "I do."

"Well, that revelation is making her careless and nearly unmanageable; in both good ways and bad. I did my best to take her out at Chernobyl without drawing too much attention to myself."

"Yeah. What was up with that?" JR questioned, remembering the high-speed chase vividly.

Anya shot him a piercing look. "I couldn't very well just kill her. I had to make it look like an accident. What better way to cover it up than to have Kim Possible as part of the execution? Ronan Anderson is more durable than I expected.

"Out of all of Rooke's agents, she will be the one to worry about," Anya continued. "Yes, her mental instability is a weakness for her, but it is also a strength. She doesn't care or think about what she does, so there's no hesitance in her actions. It could prove to be problematic."

"What else?" Cutting asked, soaking up the information.

"I can understand your interest in acquiring Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable, Shego and Dr. Drakken, Lucas. But after spending over a week with them, I don't believe their presence is pivotal to our plot. Possible and Stoppable are too well mounted on their moral high horses to be swayed down. The only plausible action is to kill them. I can't think of anything else that is to be done.

"As for the doctor and his partner . . . I am not sure. Yes, they both have past experience in a field similar to ours, but I don't know if we will be able to influence them."

"What makes you say that?"

"First off, Drakken is at an emotional cross-roads. Having received the recognition his craved for so long, reconnecting with his old girlfriend, and finding out he's a father has sufficiently confused him as to what he wants. On top of that, he's entered a sexual relationship with Shego."

"What about her?" JR asked. "She's always seemed to have been the more dominant of the two."

"Yes. But I think she's getting soft. Too soft. I don't know if we would be able to tear her away from his side voluntarily. From watching them, I'd be willing to wager that she is prepared to stay by his side, regardless of how he plans to conduct himself."

"What did you say the mother's name was?" Cutting asked suddenly.

"Ronan's? Karen. Karen Anderson. What about her?"

"Anything," Cutting encouraged. "Is she usable?"

"In what regard?" Anya chuckled. "She is a dancer-choreographer from New York City. She is hardly a threat. She can't handle her daughter; she fears her. And she cannot handle her past relationship with Drakken. From all my observations, she is utterly worthless."

"I just wonder if there isn't an opportunity somewhere in there," Cutting mused. "At least as far as Drakken is concerned. I will not even give Shego a second thought. She will need to be dealt with in a manner similar to the rest of her family."

"Are you talking about him having a soft spot for Karen and Ronan?" JR asked. "Using them as a means to possibly persuade him?"

Cutting tapped his finger against his nose and then pointed to JR.

"As much as I love divulging this to you both," Anya interrupted, "I am curious as to what we do now. I am sick of licking Director's boots."

Hego had heard enough. He needed to get out of there. He glanced down at his watch: 5:10. He needed to find his family. He needed to warn them. As stealthily as he could, he began to walk back to the restaurant's entrance. By the time he had reached the door, he was sure he was successful in not drawing attention to himself.

"Were you followed, Anya?" Cutting questioned suddenly, his eyes locked onto the back of Hego's head. He watched the incognito super hero lazily as he made to leave the restaurant.

Anya followed her boss's line of sight. Her eyes hardened at Hego's unforgettable form. "He is the Gordon's oldest son, Henry. The city knows him as Hego. I didn't realize he followed me here." She turned in her seat, fixing Cutting with a knowing look. "What should I do?"

He smiled at her, sticking his hand into his suitcoat. "I believe your masquerade has gone on long enough, my dear. I will alert Dr. Director as to the situation. JR, you will arrange to have Vrishkov's Box transported here."

Cutting pulled his hand out of his coat, revealing a Smith and Wessen 500 model with a sawed off barrel. He placed it in front of Anya.

"Do what you need to. I am very proud of the work you have done."

* * *

The Gordons' and their guests arrived at Go City Park a little before five. The Park itself was very unique. In fact, Go City Park wasn't really a park at all. The six city-block area was actually the original location for Go City – referred to as 'Old Go City'. The surrounding set up was more akin to an Italian Piazza than a city park. The roads and sidewalks were bumpy bricks and the buildings were gothic and old; they contrasted beautifully with the clean modernism of New Go City.

There was no driving allowed in Old Go City, so people wandered aimlessly between streets and shops. For the Summer Festival Series, the trees and potted plants that lined the lanes were adorned with twinkling white lights and green, red, blue, and purple ribbons. In the center of the park a large stage and several city employees were going about setting up for the kick-off concert. The featured performer was a Go City native named Gwyneth Muse. She played piano and sang in a style that was a mix of R&B, folk, and rock.

After reaching the festivity destination, Miriam tried reaching Henry's cell phone to let him know they were there. The ringing went straight to voicemail. After leaving a message, Miriam told Jay that his staff meeting was probably running long. Jay barely heard her. He was once again eying his daughter and her beau.

Shego had taken her mother's advice and had changed into the off-white sundress. She had also let Miriam tie back her long hair into a thick fishbone plait. Drakken was hardly able to tear his eyes away from her, as were many other people. Despite the paleness of Shego's skin, the light color of the dress did no wash her out. In fact, it played off the subtle green tints of her pigmentation wonderfully. Inkiness of her hair contrasted superbly against the whiteness of both her skin and the garment. She was stunning. No one was able to deny it. Even Kim felt a small pang of self-consciousness as she looked down at the bland shirt and pants Margo had brought for her.

After about ten minutes of waiting for Hego, the group began to slowly disperse and explore the festival. They would meet up later once he showed up. Will and Wally tore Jim and Tim away from their parents, wanting to show them the Frisbee-golf course just beyond Old Go City. Ronan and Sutton once again disappeared together. Before she was completely out of sight, however, Shego threw Ronan a weary look and imperceptibly nodded towards Drakken. Ronan stared at her blankly before beginning to stalk away. Margo and Rooke stayed in the company of Miriam and Jay – much to Jay's irritation. Kim, Ron, and Will remained close by the older adults, not knowing what to do. Will repeatedly kept checking his GJ issued communicator for any word from Minka.

Karen found herself, once again, on her own.

After awhile, Drakken and Shego wandered away from the group. That is, Shego led Drakken away, grasping his hand firmly. They received several glances as they brushed through the crowds. Not only was Shego garnering attention for her irrefutable beauty, but people also recognized them as the former evil duo that had saved the world.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" Shego questioned suddenly. She had grown increasingly conscious of the fact that Drakken had not taken his eyes off of her since before leaving the house. Normally she would've been annoyed that he kept looking at her, but gaze he had fixed her with left her feeling awkward.

She felt a thin, strong vine pull her towards Drakken; a gesture that was closely followed by his hands on her waist and lower back.

"Sorry," he mumbled, a bit flummoxed by his plants' actions. He cleared his throat and said, "You look very beautiful tonight."

Shego's voice got lost in her throat as she tried to thank him. Instead, she merely mouthed the words. Drawing her closer to him, he softly placed a kiss on her waiting mouth. Unlike most of their previous kisses, this one was sweet, gentle and soft-spoken. Strangely, Shego felt it was far more intimate than any kiss delivered in the heat of sex.

The kiss ended far sooner than Drakken would've liked. Shego carefully pulled her face away from his. Looking directly into his confused eyes, she firmly said: "I love you."

Everything around Drakken stopped. Time seemed to be frozen. He stared down at Shego, gawking at her. He hardly dared to believe what he had just heard. In fact, he was certain he had misheard her.

"What?"

"Jeez, Dr. D," Shego replied, her usual snide tone-of-voice coming out, "you didn't think I'd stick by you all this time if I didn't have a good reason. It's not like there's a whole lot else to keep me here."

Drakken frowned at her. "Do you need to be so lippy?"

Shego smiled and took 'lippy' to a whole new context as she wrapped her hand around his neck and brought his mouth down to meet hers. Drakken happily responded to her movements by drawing her in closer to him.

Paying 'no never mind' to those around him, Drakken firmly grasped Shego's hips and lifted her up off her feet. Shego let out a surprised cry at the back of her throat and opened her eyes as she was lifted above her employer's head in the exaggerated hug. Giggling, she broke the kiss and looked down at Drakken, who was smiling back up at her. Burying his face in her shoulder, Drakken held Shego even closer to his body; she reciprocated and lovingly wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her face against the top of his head.

Eventually, Drakken placed Shego back on the ground, and loosened the embrace just enough so he could find her lips again. He held her face to his as he intensely kissed her. He could not describe to her how those three little words affected him. Despite all the shit that had gone on in the last few days, knowing that Shego loved him made all those troubles bearable. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that he realized that he also loved her. It was before the invasion. Perhaps the moodulator incident – as strange and falsified as it was – had spurred the notion in him. But what did it matter now? Not a thing. It didn't matter when he had fallen for her; what mattered was that he had.

_Last year's eyes gave this year's look_

_And opened mine just like a book_

_Can't believe how long it took to see_

Outside of their little 'love bubble', Gwyneth Muse had taken the stage as was beginning her set. She had a smooth, clear voice that broke through the din of the cityscape.

_Last year's hand gave this year's grip_

_And interlaced my fingertips_

_Can't believe he's giving in to me_

Eventually, Drakken broke the kiss, but he kept his hands firmly on Shego's face. He was smiling uncontrollably and was having difficulty catching his breath. No one – save for his mother – had ever said that to him. Not even Karen. He tilted his head against Shego's, trying to hide the tears that were pooling in his eyes.

_Brand new, brand new_

_Never have I looked at you this way_

_Last year's feet took this year's walk_

_Strolling slow around my block_

_Don't know when we ever talked this long_

"I take it that means you feel the same way?" Shego asked, laughing at Drakken's excitement over the whole situation. He responded by once again kissing her.

_Last year's lips gave this year's kiss_

_I don't know how I ever missed_

_That I had me a man like this all along_

"I do," Drakken sighed, taking his lips off of hers. "I love you so much, Saoirse."

He hadn't meant to call her by her real name, and he wasn't even aware that he had done so. Shego caught it, though. But instead of being irritated by it, she was overwhelmed by indescribable warmth that welled up inside her as he said that he loved her too. She had figured he did, but actually hearing him say the words so passionately made her head foggy and her throat go tight.

_Brand new, brand new_

_Never have I looked at you_

_Never have I looked at you this way_

_Brand new, brand new_

_Never have I been with you_

_Never have I been with you 'til today_

This time, Shego was unable to contain herself as she pulled Drakken in for another kiss and embrace.

_Hearts that flutter_

_Tongues that stutter _

_I have fallen for no other_

_In the way that I know I just fell_

_Wanting, pacing, my mind racing_

_Can't believe how much I'm craving_

_To be in the arms I know so well_

_Well, well, well_

Shego had heard those words before, a number of times. But never with as much fervor and reverence. In that moment, she knew that all the other 'I love yous' she had heard previously could not hold a candle to Drakken's.

_Last year's voice, this year's words_

_Don't know how it not occurred _

_They're like none I've ever heard before_

Finally, they both broke the kiss, still holding on to each other, gazing at the other in astonishment. Goofy, love-struck smiles were plastered on both of their faces.

_Last year's man is this year's crush_

_Look at how my cheeks do flush_

_I'm smiling as he opens up my door_

_Brand new, brand new_

_Never have I looked at you_

_Never have I looked at you this way_

_Brand new, brand new_

_Never have I been with you_

_Never have I been with you 'til today_

As Gwyneth brought her first song to a close, the surrounding crowd erupted in applause. Drakken and Shego didn't hear it. Their heartbeats were still pounding in their ears.

* * *

Ronan watched Drakken and Shego from across the Piazza. She was perched on the back of an iron bench, elbows resting on her knees. She wasn't sure what had just happened between the two, but whatever it was it appeared to be good. They kissed and held each other as if they had just returned from the wars.

She sighed as she brought careful fingertips to the scabbed side of her face. She hoped that no serious scarring would result from her injuries. There wasn't much she could do about the tattered ear. Her attention was once again drawn to Drakken and Shego; they had begun to stroll slowly around the park, arms twined around one another.

Resentfully, Ronan recalled Shego's request and her mother's advice. The bitterness was only partially fixed upon the other two women; mostly, the sickening hatred was directed at herself. Why couldn't she figure out what she wanted from Drakken? What was so fucking hard about figuring that out? After a week of being around him, she was no nearer feeling any type of closure concerning the situation. And she knew she had no one to blame but herself for that. He had tried, and she had shot him down. Griping the sides of her head, Ronan bent her upper into her lap with a groan.

"Coffee?" came a voice.

Ronan looked up to see Sutton carrying two paper cups of black coffee. He smiled warmly at her.

Taking one of the cups, she asked, "Where'd you get it?"

"There's a vendor over there," Sutton explained, gesturing to the direction from which he had come. Sitting down, he said, "The singer's pretty good."

"She's all right."

Sutton looked up at Ronan, and seeing her fixed gaze, he followed it to the figures of Drakken and Shego.

"So, what're you gonna do about what Shego said?"

Ronan looked into her coffee before taking a sip. "Holy shit. This has to be the worst fucking thing ever. What? Oh. I'm not sure yet."

"Ro, I love you, but you really need to get your shit together on this one," Sutton said dryly.

Ronan stared down at the ground, her fingertips drumming the sides of the cup, "I know."

Sutton didn't say anymore about it. He just placed a hand on Ronan's knee and squeezed it tenderly. After a few minutes, he drained his cup and stood.

"I'm gonna go find Margo or Rooke; see if they've made any headway as to what we're gonna do next."

"Alright," Ronan groaned, getting off the bench. "I'll come with."

Sutton placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. "No. I think you should stay here," he said with a devious smile. Ronan looked confused as he kissed her before walking off into the crowds.

Ronan stood for a moment, stunned and mystified. She couldn't help but feel that Sutton had left her behind for a reason. The rationale became abundantly clear as she heard someone cough and clear their throat behind her. Ronan turned to see Drakken standing a few feet away. He looked sheepishly at her before squaring his broad shoulders and taking a decisive step forward.

"I would like to speak with you."

Behind him, Ronan saw Shego watching them with contrived disinterest. She tried to look as if she was busy looking and listening to Gwyneth's music, but the number of times she glanced over her shoulder gave her away.

Trying to stifle her instinctive argumentative tone, Ronan said: "Okay. What's up?" She noticed that when she spoke, her fingers seemed to grip the coffee cup tighter.

Taking a deep breath, Drakken said: "I'm sorry I was pushy with you the other night. It wasn't my intention." He paused for a moment, waiting to see if Ronan would reciprocate the apology. She stared at him, stone-faced. Drakken didn't let it bother him. He was I far too good of a mood to let it. After having his moment with Shego, he felt emotionally indestructible. Spotting Ronan across the Piazza, he thought he would have another go at trying to talk to her. Shego had given him the confidence to do so.

"I never knew my father either," he continued. "He died before I was born." He could've sworn he saw something like empathy shimmer in Ronan's eyes.

"Never knowing him was hard on me," Drakken explained. "Growing up, I swore that if I should ever have a kid that I'd be there for them. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you. You were right. I should've gone and looked for your mother after she left. I should've known that something had happened to make her leave so suddenly. If I could, I would go back and fix that."

Ronan smirked. "No you wouldn't. If you had, you probably wouldn't have had that puke-inducing moment with Shego a few minutes ago." Drakken blushed and smiled to himself. She was right about that.

"But it's the thought that counts," she added quietly.

Drakken fixed her with the meaningful and pleading stare. "Please, Ronan. Let me get to know you. I want to."

She looked back at him, trying her best to keep her face emotionally ambiguous. "Alright," she finally conceded. "It's not like you're going anywhere anytime soon, anyway. Might as well."

A big smile stretched across Drakken's face at her words. He was on a relationship-building roll today! Without meaning to, his vines began to reach out to Ronan, trying to draw her in for a hug.

Her arms flew up protectively, taking a small step back; she made an odd, throaty surprised utterance.

"No, no. Too soon," she warned.

Embarrassed, Drakken mentally called the plants back.

* * *

Hego made his way toward the festival as fast as he could; a difficult feat for a massive muscle man trying to politely plow through seas of pedestrians. Unbeknownst to him, Anya was little less than a block behind him. Her distant eyes fixed to the back of his head. She wasn't sure what she was to do about him yet, but the cold form of the S&W revolver tucked into her sleeve was reassuring. An opportunity would present itself. Or she would make one.

After travelling a couple blocks, Hego finally got stopped by a waiting intersection. He stared at the opposite traffic lights, impatiently waiting for them to turn. The waiting seemed like an eternity. His foot began tapping and shaking furiously as he glanced behind him. His heart stopped as he saw Anya standing at the back of the crowd of people waiting to cross the street. She looked back at him with a chill-causing-thousand-yard-stare. After a moment, she smiled at him toothlessly; an act that left her eyes eerily unaffected.

The light finally turned, and the people around Hego began to shuffle past him. Slowly, he forced himself to tear his eyes away from his predator and staggered across the street. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't very well strip down to his Team Go regalia and fight her. There was too much potential for damage to do that: he would out himself as Hego and there were too many unprotected citizens around that could get hurt if hostility ensued.

His legs instinctively and stiffly carried him down the sidewalk. He tried to urge himself to walk faster, to put distance between himself and Anya, but the fear that gripped him cemented his muscles to the point of almost non-functioning.

Eventually, he felt someone walking in tandem with him. He glanced down and saw Anya next to him, a perfectly unattached look on her face. She was walking close enough to him that she could influence his movements without physically touching him.

"Hello, Henry."

It wasn't Minka Carlisle. She was gone. The person that walked beside him was Anya. Her cold and calculating voice was sharp, clear, and calm. Hego didn't respond; he kept walking. A sinking feeling in his gut made him realize that he did not have the upper hand in this situation. Wherever this was going, it wasn't going to end well.

Together they walked, continuing towards the festival. Hego's face had gone pale and slack. Anya held her head high, looking content, her chocolate curls bouncing behind her. As Old Go City Park and the festivities came into sight and sound, she noted an old church flanked by construction scaffolding. It would be deserted, surely. It was a little closer to the main celebrations of the festival than she would've liked, but she couldn't be picky.

As they approach the ramshackle cathedral, Anya took a few swift, quick-paced steps in front of Hego. She danced up a few stairs leading the to church's doors. Turning back to her quarry, she flourished her arm up towards the door, presenting the way. Hego stopped, staring hopelessly up at her. His gaze shifted over to the festival. In his head, two voices were locked in argument as to what he should do. Could he make a mad dash to the party? Find his family and warn them? Or would that decision result to destruction of not only him, but also hundreds of innocents? He didn't know whether or not Anya and her counterparts had prepared some terrible weapon that they would use if he didn't cooperative.

However, if he complied with Anya's request of going into the vacant church there was a chance that bad things would happen to him. But if he followed her in, he could also use his super powers against her since there was no one else to see him. That was a better option. Slowly, he ascended the steps and entered the church's sanctuary. Anya followed, closing the large doors behind them.

The great building was empty. Their footsteps echoed ominously around them, reverberating off of the stone walls and pillars. Hego had gotten a little over a quarter of the way down the aisle, his eyes fixed upon the front alter.

"Stairs," Anya's voice broke through the air. He looked over at her. She was standing next to the confessionals, where a small, winding stairway started. Hego's heart thudded against his sternum as he complied with her command.

The pair carefully made their way up the poorly lit, thin, snaking stairs; Hego leading the way, Anya watchfully behind him. At the top, the steps opened onto the church's large bell tower. The waning sun poured in through the glassless windows and the sounds of the festival and Gwyneth's singing filled the space.

Hego stepped carefully onto the creaky wood planks. He was mildly concerned that the moldy floor would not hold his weight. His muscles were beginning to twitch in anticipation. If he was going to confront Anya, now would be the time to do it. Balling his fists, he turned.

There was a loud, sharp _pop_ that resonated off of the brass bells around them, and Hego was forced backward. He stumbled, unsure of what had just happened. His heart struggled to beat, his lungs strained to breath, something wet soaked into his shirt. Not wanting to, but unable to stop himself, he looked down. There was a large gaping hole in the center of his chest, right where his heart would be. He looked up at Anya. She was holding a modified revolver in her hands, the sights of which were fixed on him. Stunned, all Hego could do was stand there, until Anya pulled the trigger for a second time. The shot rang through the tower again, and this time the bullet ripped through Hego's left pectoral muscle. The force made him take another step back and he began to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen; the second bullet had punctured his lung, causing it to collapse. He stumbled again, knocking into a stone gargoyle. He fell to his knees, holding onto the stone for support.

"Meddlesome," Anya finally said. She lowered the gun, eying her victim. He was dead, or would be soon enough. He had superhuman durability that made him last longer than the average person when faced with a .500 ammunition, but he wouldn't make it.

"If you had not followed me, you could have lasted for a little longer Henry," she hissed. Unable to speak, Hego took great gasping breaths, blood gurgling at the back of his throat.

"But I had fun with this," she said, smiling. "It was nice to get out of Minka Carlisle's shoes, you know? Now, before I leave you here to die, I want to explain something: There was nothing you could've done. We will kill your city, your country. Then we are going to kill your family: Your apostate mother, cunt sister, miscreant brothers and seditionist father. Nothing you were thinking about doing would've stopped us. Nothing that Rooke or his Syndicate does will be enough. Black Rabbits are far too equipped and integrated than imaginable."

Standing back up, Anya walked back to the staircase. "Good bye, Henry," she called over her shoulder and descended down the steps.

Hego leaned against the gargoyle, trying to stave off the blackness that was beginning to surround him. Blood was pooling at his shoes quickly and in massive amounts. Doing his best to breath normally, he tried forcing himself to his feet. His legs shook and his shoes slipped in the puddle of blood around him. He wasn't going to make it for much longer, that he knew. He wouldn't be able to get back down the stairs, out of the church, and seek out his parents. But he still needed to warn them. He needed to somehow tell Aunt Margo and Rooke that 'Minka Carlisle' worked for their enemy. All of them were in grave danger. He needed to help them. How could he get to them before he left this life?

Frantically searching his mind for a solution became harder as the black began to engulf him. He wasn't sure if he was actually feeling it, but he felt as though he could sense his organ systems beginning to shut down. The rousing sound of applause and cheers poured in through the uncovered windows of the tower as Gwyneth finished another song.

Hego once again tried to stand and take a step in the direction of the balcony. He immediately fell to his knees and smacked his head against the wooden floor. Doing his best to regain himself, he awkwardly pulled his body across the floor in something resembling an army crawl. When he reached the base of the balcony wall, he reached up, and mustering all of his remaining strength he hoisted himself against the tower opening. Shakily, he lifted one leg over the wall, straddling himself on the ledge. He looked out over the drop, making sure there were no people directly below him. Carefully, he wiggled off shoe and let it plunge to the ground. He waited for a moment, savoring his last few minutes of life. He looked out over the expanse of Go City wistfully, wishing it had not ended this way. His head lulled onto his chest and his body swayed precariously from side to side, until it finally succumbed to gravity and slipped over the ledge.

* * *

Miriam and Jay were still waiting for word from their oldest son. It was almost a quarter to six now. Although, they weren't too worried, Henry could handle himself after all. So they, Margo and Rooke stood and enjoyed the music.

Elsewhere, Drakken had once again joined Shego's side and they had continued their leisurely walk around the main Piazza. After speaking briefly with Margo, Sutton had once again found Ronan and was pleased to see that she seemed to be in a better mood than he had left her. Of course, the shift in her persona would not have been evident to the casual observer, but Sutton – who knew her better than anyone – could tell. She didn't mention the exchange she had with Drakken, but he knew that was what altered her state of mind.

The festival and evening was off to a very good start. People were having fun, enjoying themselves. At the far north end of the Piazza, there was a large cathedral that was currently under construction. Near its base, the same group of girls that Hego had bumped into earlier where gathered in a tight-knit group. They were all holding some kind of carnival treat, their jealous eyes locked onto the stunning young woman in the cream-colored dress and black braid. She was a few yards away, jokingly dancing with a man who appeared to be her boyfriend. The girls didn't understand why someone so enviably, physically perfect would be with someone like _that_. Not that the gentleman with her was incredibly ugly. He was fine, handsome in his own way even, but he certainly was not on the same par as the woman.

The girls watched the pair with the same interest and curiosity as if they were watching a documentary about the mating habits of Proboscis monkeys. Suddenly, something smacked one of the girls on the top of her head. Crying out in pain and surprise, she automatically looked up. Not seeing anything, she glanced down at the ground to see what assaulted her. It was a man's shoe. Confused all of the girls looked at it and then took a few steps away from the church, turning their heads up to see if they could spot where the shoe had come from. Luckily, they had moved just in time before a body came plummeting down and landed with a sickening _smack!_ where they had just been standing. They all screamed, their voices drowning out the blare of the concert's stereo system.

Both Shego and Drakken jumped at the sudden shrieks. More people began yelling and screaming as they went to see what the problem was. At the same time, Shego and Drakken jogged towards the commotion. She didn't know why, but even before Shego saw the body, her intestines twisted and her heart jumped to her throat. She got ahead of Drakken and forced her way through the crowd. Her chest seized when she saw Hego's mangled body on the ground.

"Henry!" she cried in a very un-Shegoish way, rushing over to his side.

Drakken stopped when he heard her. He didn't know what to do. What could he do? Thankfully, Will Du showed up by his side and started doing crowd control. He whipped out his Global Justice badge and ID, brandishing it at the crowd.

"Everyone back up!" he yelled, spreading his arms wide. Slowly, people took shuffled back, their eyes glued to the grisly sight in front of them. "Back up!"

Kim, Ron, Ronan and Sutton fought their way through the crowd to see what was happening. Kim and Ron stopped a few feet into the mass once they both caught glimpses of Shego kneeling next to her brother's broken body, blood staining her dress. Ronan continued to fight through the people until she came to stand next to Drakken, who hadn't moved when Will began urging people back.

"What's going on?" yelled a voice at the back of the crowd. It was Jay. He began to push his way through the tightly packed peoples, but Kim and Ron stopped him.

"You don't want to go up there, Mr. Gordon," Ron said as calmly as he could, holding onto Jay's massive forearm.

"Why? What's going on?"

Seeing no reason to try and hide it, Kim whispered: "It's Heg – Henry."

Jay's eyes widened and he brushed passed to two teens a few feet. He caught sight of the scene and his body periodically shut down. His heart stopped and his breath got lost in his throat as he saw his eldest son crumpled on the ground in a puddle of blood.

"Jay!" cried Miriam from the back of the group. "Jay! What happened?"

Blinking the tears out of his eyes, Jay mustered his mental faculties and switched over into police chief-mode. He turned around and found Miriam's face at the back of the crowd.

"Stay where you are!" he choked, holding his hand up. Confused, she took a couple steps forward. Jay strode towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders, stopping her.

"Margo!" he called. "Get her out of here."

"Why? What happened? What's going?" Miriam questioned as Margo began to gently pull at her arm.

"Take her home," Jay ordered, ignoring his wife. She would know soon enough. She didn't need to see Henry's body plastered across he bricks.

When Shego had first knelt by Hego, she lowered her head to hear if he was breathing. Sharp, unsteady gasps came from his mouth.

"Hego?" she whispered. Her voice had gone thick and cracked when she spoke. "Hego, what happened?" Shego paused, taking a trembling breath, "Please tell me."

Hego's blue eyes which had been hooded and staring into the distance, suddenly found Shego's face. His breathing became even more ragged. His lips twitched against the bricks as he tried to get his brain to deliver the words to his mouth.

Finally, after a few attempts, he managed to rasp, "Minka."

Shego didn't understand at first. However, Ronan, who had managed to hear the conversation, understood immediately. Her blood began to boil. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to reach for the small Ruger LPC 830 that she had tucked securely in her boot. Ronan looked up from where Hego had fallen. She was about to run into the church and search for the fucking rat when she heard Will behind her.

"Minka!" he cried over the top of the crowd. Will saw his partner appear out of nowhere and dart through the mass of people. She didn't seem to hear him. "Minka!" he called again.

This time her eyes briefly looked at him, but she kept walking away. Ronan's amber eyes were locked on her head. Stealthily, she bent down and took the small handgun from her boot. Even though she tried to be discrete about it, a few people did notice and started screaming again, pointing at her.

Distracted by the new panic, Will whipped around to see Ronan taking slow, decisive strides towards him. He looked down at the gun in her hand. Realizing what she was going to do, he blocked her and yelled, "Ronan, no! Stop!"

Without warning, Ronan lunged forward, bringing the heel of her bandaged hand up to Will's face. The force broke his nose and whipped his head back. Ronan continued to run through the crowd, keeping her eyes glued to 'Minka's' body.

At hearing the second round of screams, Anya glanced behind her to see Ronan barreling towards her. Her sympathetic nervous system kicking in, Anya ran, firing the .500 S&W into the air three more times in an attempt to get the crowds to part.

Watching, Ronan run after the GJ agent made Shego realize what had happened. Next to her, Hego had stopped breathing. He was gone. Minka – or whoever she was – had killed him. Green-hot rage began to rise in Shego's body. She wasn't terribly close to her brothers, but that didn't mean she didn't want to destroy anyone who messed with them. Decidedly, Shego took off the heels she was wearing and stood up. She began to run through the crowd, after Ronan and after Minka. Her hands ignited as she ran towards the police cars that were beginning to show up at the scene. Crying out, Shego leapt onto the hood of the first car, flipped over the next, and grabbed onto the rough wall of the nearest building. Scrambling up it, she leapt onto the roof and began running across it; Ronan would take the low road, she would take the high.

The people began to thin as Anya got farther and farther away from the park. The S&W was still in her hand. Silently, she cursed herself for having used all five rounds; three of which had not even gone towards anyone. There was a sudden _bang!_ to her right and her arms flew up distinctively to her cover her head as she ran. Ronan had opened fire on her. Anya's lungs burned as she tried to put more distance between her and the Syndicate agent. Ronan fired off another round, and she felt the bullet graze her shoulder. Coming upon an alleyway, Anya darted into it. As she went down the narrow path, she knocked over trash bins and pulled dumpsters away from the walls as a means of slowing Ronan down. It didn't work as well as she hoped; those giraffe legs Ronan had allowed her to get around the obstacles easier than most.

There was a chain link fence at the end of the alley that Anya hopped onto the clambered over. As she started to cross over the top of it, there was a bright green flash and she fell to the opposite side. Anya quickly sprang to her feet, eying the fence before she continued to run. A huge section of the fence had been destroyed, melted and smoking. Looking up, Anya saw Shego's silhouette jumping from building to building. Annoyed, she picked up her pace again. Hopefully, Cutting had an escape planned out for her.

No sooner had she thought that did a black Jaguar sports car rip out from an adjacent alleyway. Anya recognized the plates as Cutting's and dashed towards the vehicle. Just as she got in, Ronan finally emerged from the alley, Ruger still at the ready. She took a couple more shots that merely 'pinged' off the car's frame. Cutting revved the engine and peeled towards her. Before the he could run her down, Shego leapt from off the nearest building, expertly swinging from flag poles and awnings, and knocked Ronan out of the vehicle's way. The two women tumbled to the ground as the Jaguar began to speed off. Getting back to her feet, Shego chased after it, furiously sending off plasma blasts as she went.

She knew it was stupid to try and run a car down on foot, and she was too upset to aim her blasts accurately enough to cause any functioning damage to her target. But she couldn't just sit there. Her bare feet madly pounded the pavement, her muscles were beginning to ache from exhaustion and stress, and her heart and lungs were begging her to stop. She had run three city blocks by the time her senses returned to her. Slowing to a stiff-legged walk, Shego's angry green eyes remained on the Jaguar's tail lights. She sent one last plasma ball in their direction, but it merely extinguished after a few meters.

Ronan jogged up to Shego. She looked over at the other woman's face; it was washed in shock, rage, and grief. Ronan looked back at the pinpricks of light that were all that was left of the get-away vehicle. She gripped the Ruger even tighter. She was angry at Director, angry at Rooke, and angry at herself that Minka (or whatever her real name was) had hoodwinked everyone so successfully. Looking back to Shego, Ronan put an awkward, but tentative, hand on her shoulder.

Not knowing what to do, but needing to do something, Shego fell to her knees and screamed.

* * *

**A/N: **Please review.


	17. The Show Must Go On

**A/N:** Omigosh! The last chapter! Ahhhhhhh! Read and Review! PLEASE!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kim Possible blahblahblah

* * *

After watching the faux GJ agent speed off, Shego and Ronan made their way back to the main square of Old Go City Park. Neither of them spoke to the other. Ronan was still fuming with disgust and fury, while Shego had gone into quiet shock. Once they returned to the scene, they were greeted with a furious array of blinking red and blue lights. Several emergency vehicles had arrived while the two women pursued the killer on foot, and were park haphazardly around the Piazza.

The crowd of festival-goers had been shuffled off to the skirts of the area by patrol officers. Ronan came to a slow stop, assessing the scene. Shego continued to make her way through, ducking under a ribbon of yellow police tape. She strode to the north end of the park, where there was the largest concentration of commotion. She walked by the open end of an ambulance and caught a glimpse of Will Du getting the blood wiped off his face and his nose set and bandaged. As she neared the actual scene of the accident, she could make out a large black tarp covering Hego's body. Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes away from the sight. Seeing the person she wanted to talk to, she picked up her pace to a jog.

"Commissioner Jacobs," she cried, trotting over.

A black gentleman turned to look who had called him. Police Commissioner DeAndre Jacobs fixed Shego with a stern, sympathetic look and walked over to her.

"You shouldn't be here, Saoirse," he said. He eyed her bloody clothes, and asked, "Did you move the body at all?"

Swallowing, Shego shook her head. "Where's my Dad?"

"I sent him home. I'm going to do the same with you," Jacobs said, grabbing her arm and leading her away.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Shego yelled, wrenching her arm out of his grasp, her hands lighting up with plasma.

"Shego!" called a voice from the crowd. She looked over to see Drakken standing at the edge of the looky-loos, waving her over. Shego shot one last glare at the Commissioner before heading over to Drakken. He lifted up the tape and she dipped under it. Together they began to walk away from the scene, lights and sounds echoing behind them.

After walking a couple blocks, Shego suddenly exclaimed: "I forgot my shoes!"

She instinctively turned around to go back, but Drakken grabbed her hand. "Leave them, Shego."

Shego listened, but didn't move. She stared at the distant flickering lights and muffled sounds of people and sirens. Behind her, Drakken let go of her hand and began to unbutton his shirt. Shrugging it off his shoulders, he handed it to her.

"Here."

She looked down at his offering and took it. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and wrapped it around herself, trying to cover up her bloody clothes the best she could.

"Thanks," she whispered.

For a moment, they stood in relative silence: Shego looking at the ground, Drakken at her. Sighing, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his partner. Shego didn't reciprocate the hug, but she didn't fight it either. She simply stood in Drakken's embrace, her head resting in the center of his chest.

When he finally pulled away from her, she asked: "Where did everyone go?"

"Back to your parents house," he explained. "Rooke and the rest of the Syndicate went up to the church."

Shego nodded vaguely. "Let's go home," she said.

Taking her hand, Drakken and she walked back to the nearest L Station.

* * *

Rooke, Derek, Angela, Sutton, and John-Paul had managed to get into the old cathedral before the Go City officer were able to. Before investigating, John-Paul crushed the handle of the doors so that they would be difficult to open; it was best if they were left alone.

"Okay," Angela said, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. "How do we get up to the tower?"

Before anyone could make a suggestion, there was a tapping at one of the stain glass windows that lined the sanctuary. The group looked over at the source of the sound curoiously.

"It's me," came Ronan's distinctive growl.

Sutton walked over and undid the window's latch, opening it for her. Ronan hoisted herself onto the windowsill and slid into the church.

"She got away?" Rooke asked sadly.

"Fucking yeah she fucking got away!" Ronan yelled. She kicked the nearest pew and her foot went right through the moldy wood. Crying out in frustration, she tore her shoe away, kicking up dust and splinters as she went. Once she was free, she began pacing up and down the aisle; alternating running her hands through her hair and placing them on her nonexistent hips.

Finally, after a few moments, Ronan rubbed her face with her hands and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sorry," she muttered.

Rooke nodded in understanding.

"Stairs," called Derek. He was standing at the base of a small staircase next the church's confessionals. Carefully, the Syndicate ascended it.

There was no doubt that they had entered the crime scene once they reached the top of the steps. There was a large puddle of blood a few yards away, along with a wide red smear leading from the puddle to the open balcony.

"What a bloody mess," Derek said, delicately stepping into the bell tower.

"Ba-dum chhhh!" Angela chimed behind him.

"Please, you two," Rooke warned firmly. He took a few strides towards the ledge that Hego had fallen from, and leaned himself against the wall, craning his neck to see the square below.

John-Paul stopped and took a couple decisive sniffs of the air. "Smell that? Gun powder."

"Well, she did have a gun," Sutton commented, remembering the loud shots that 'Minka' had fired into the air as she ran away.

"Holy shit," Derek exclaimed suddenly, bending down to look at something.

"What is it?" Rooke questioned as he and the rest of his team came to gather around his eldest. Derek took out a small flashlight, shining it on a slightly warped half-inch bullet head. He quickly flicked the beam of light to the nearest wall, where there was a small crack in the stone. He turned his attention back to the bullet. "Anyone have a baggie or something?"

Before anything could be said, Ronan began to slowly back up, keeping her eyes fixed on the find. She wore a strange expression on her face, as if she had been presented with a difficult math problem. She awkwardly staggered a few steps back, beyond the puddle, almost back to the stair landing. Eying the pool of blood, spattering on the ceiling, and the location of the bullet remnant, Ronan bent at her knees, bringing herself to a height more similar to that of the former GJ agent. Staring straight ahead, Ronan tried to imagine Hego standing a few feet from the largest puddle. Bringing her arms up in front of her, hands forming the shape of a pistol. She did her best to put herself in the moment, imagining pulling the trigger. In her mind, she saw Hego stumble back. Looking at the pattern of blood fall and spatter, Ronan pulled the imaginary trigger once more. That fit.

Resuming her normal height, she looked over her shoulder into the darkened corner of the tower.

"Flashlight," she requested. Derek tossed it over to her. Deftly catching, Ronan shone the light in the corner. Spotting a metallic glimmer, she swooped forward to pick the item up.

"She was not messing around," Ronan commented, holding one of the two two-inch cartridges between her thumb and finger.

"What is that?" Sutton asked, looking back at the mashed bullet. "A .44?"

"A 500," Ronan corrected. "Poor Henry did not stand a chance in Hell."

"Jesus," Derek sighed. "I'm surprised he made it to the balcony."

From downstairs, they could hear the pounding and forced rattling of the doors JP had permenantly locked.

"I think we're done here," Rooke said. "Let's go."

* * *

"Oh my gosh," Wade said, staring wide-eyed up at Kim. His mouth hung open, not knowing what to say.

Kim stared down sadly at the Kimmunicator on her wrist. She had just finished telling him about that evening's events. She, Ron and their families accompanied Margo and Miriam back to the Gordons home. Shortly after, Jay had returned and had the unpleasant duty of telling his wife that their son was dead. Then Mel showed up. The Gordons harbored themselves in the living room. The Possibles and Stoppables floated around the kitchen and dining room, feeling incredibly awkward that they were prying on this very personal family matter.

"How're you guys doing?" Wade finally asked. Next to Kim, Ron shrugged one shoulder noncommittally.

Kim fought the lump growing in her throat and said: "Angry. Sad. She fooled everyone, Wade. No one saw it. Maybe if we had been more subjective – "

"Kim, you can't blame yourself," Ron reminded. "You just said it yourself: She fooled _everyone_. Rooke, Director, everyone." He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side, kissing her head.

"He's right, Kim," Wade agreed. "So what happens next?"

Kim shook her head, whispering: "I don't know."

From their seat on the Gordon's swinging porch bench, the teens heard the front gate open. They both stood and saw Drakken and Shego make their way up the stone path.

"Gotta go Wade," Kim said and severed the connection.

Together she and Ron walked to the porch steps. Shego ascended the steps quickly and went inside the house without sparing them a glance. Drakken watched her go; staring at the screen door she had disappeared into.

"Minka got away?" Kim asked after a moment.

"_Whoever_ she was," Drakken corrected, "yes. She got away."

The former foes stood in silence, unsure of what to do or say. The same person had hoodwinked them all, for the same purpose. None of them said it out loud, but they wondered what that night meant for them. In terms of the Black Rabbits 'hit' on their heads. They had been among a spy for a little over a week; what implications would there be for them? A fate similar to Hego's? All three were pulled out of their heads as Karen came out onto the porch.

"Where is everyone else?" She tried not to sound too worried, but there was an unmistakable quiver in her voice.

"Ronan is fine," Drakken answered, acknowledging the subtext to her question. "She and the rest were going to comb over the scene."

"You couldn't bring her back with you?" Karen whispered. "Dammit, Drew. There's some insane murdering bitch out there with a pension for . . . Syndicate blood!"

"Calm down, Ren," Drakken said with uncharacteristic mellow. "She's fine. I saw for myself."

"Do not call me that."

"Calm down, mother. We're back, all in one piece," Ronan called as she and the rest of the Syndicate traipsed through the front gate.

"How're are you two?" Rooke questioned Kim and Ron. Putting on brave faces they meekly told him they were fine. He smiled kindly at them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders before entering the house.

Once Rooke was gone, Kim turned to the group at the bottom of the steps. "Now what?"

"Now," Sutton said, "you all lay low. Stay in the house. We've been given orders to patrol the area and keep an eye on the house."

"I don't want to sit still," Kim argued. "I want to do something!"

"That's cute, Kimberly Ann," Ronan sneered. "But the last time you _did _something, a large portion of my pretty face got smeared across Ukraine dirt at one hundred miles per hour. You'll stay here."

Unwilling to fight, Kim refrained from pointing out that Minka probably caused that, too.

* * *

The next three days were a blur. Miriam and Jay did the best they could in going about setting up arrangements for Henry's wake and funeral, but there were several instances where Margo had to do the bulk of the preparations. Not that she minded, though. She insisted on it sometimes. Much like when Shego had left, Miriam spent a good portion of the day in bed, only to roam mindlessly around the large house at night. Jay did his best to keep up his stoic façade, but it eventually came down. The Gordon twins did their best to pick up where their father fell short – helping their Aunt with funeral provisions, keeping the house clean, and so on. Mel also spent a great deal of time in his childhood home, as oppose to his loft in Downtown Go City. A gesture Kim was sure that had been greatly influenced by his Aunt and Uncle, rather than his genuine will. Mel struck Kim to be more akin to his sister, in the fact that when uncomfortable, 'too-real' situations rolled around he would avoid them.

Having also been quarantined in the Gordon House, Shego did her best to evade the unavoidable situation by hiding away in her or her parents' room. If and when Kim would get a glimpse of her, she was usually in the company of her mother. From previous experience, Kim knew Shego wasn't completely heartless – her first Team Go mission came to mind – but she was a little taken aback by how crushed her former nemesis seemed to be. She had not seen Shego shed a tear for the loss of her brother, but she was unmistakably upset and distressed by it.

Kim, Ron and the rest of their families had been shuffled to the Gordon's basement as a means of habitation. Given the addition of Margo, Rooke, Shego, and Mel, Miriam and Jay didn't have any more spare bedrooms. No one objected; they had been supplied with plump air mattresses and soft sheets. Drakken ended up in Shego's room, not that she slept with him. Rather, she would take to walking around the house and yard with her mother. Karen took up residence on the living room couch, often staying up late waiting for Ronan to stop by for a shift change.

The rest of the Syndicate – Ronan, Derek, Sutton, Angela, and JP – took turns patrolling Go City, Go Park, and the Gordon's immediate block in six-hour shifts. The maneuvers were more defensive than offensive. Margo was insistent on remaining in Go Park until her nephew was laid to rest, a demand Rooke obliged. However, Kim noticed Rooke and Angela working together more furiously and rapidly than usual. She briefly considered asking them about what they were doing and what they planned on doing next. The look Rooke wore on his face those following three days made her think otherwise.

There were handful of other events that took place over those next three days that caught Kim off guard as well. First, Will Du did not return to the Gordon's house following Hego's murder. She received word from Wade that Dr. Director had him pulled back to GJHQ. No details other than that were given.

Second, Rooke convinced Jay and Miriam to 'out' Henry as Hego. The reason for this, Rooke articulated, was to confuse Cutting. Besides, it would be noticed that Go City's familiar blue hero would be absent indefinitely. Better to address it now than wait, especially with impending evil looming over the city. The announcement that one Go City's heroes were dead made the evening news the day following Hego's death. The response to this was expectedly overwhelming. For obvious reasons, no direct connections to Jay, Miriam or any of their other children were made in the media. However, that did not stop the citizens of Go City and its surrounding suburbs to adorn the streets in Delphiniums, Forget-Me-Nots, Poppies and Blue and Black ribbons.

The third thing Kim noticed was the increasing 'chumminess' between Drakken, Karen, and Ronan. Up until that point, all three of them had regarded the others with varying degrees of distrust, abhorrence, and apathy. Not that they were now skipping around with linked arms or anything, but distinct gains had been made in bandaging their broken relationships. Ronan didn't seem to purposely avoid either of her parents, even going so far as to seek her mother out; she appeared to still be timid around Drakken. The animosity between Karen and her Ex was no longer constantly bubbling under the surface. Over the days following Hego's death, it was not uncommon to find the pair chatting conversationally. With Shego's absence and Karen's seemingly perpetual loneliness, the two naturally gravitated towards each other.

The final, and far more internal, thing Kim noticed was something very bothersome to her. In the wake of Hego's murder and the blatant presentation of Minka's true colors, something foreign stirred in the depths of her consciousness. It was an idea that she correlated very strongly with Syndicate ideals. Perhaps there were those who needed to be dealt with in a more . . . definitive manner. Up until that point, Kim had not for second questioned her beliefs on punishment or any other facet of justice. But now that she had been so effectively seduced and lied to by 'Minka', she felt a burning embarrassment and revulsion ripple inside her; towards the mole and towards herself. She had truly liked Minka Carlisle. The agent was easier going and far more personable than Will Du. Kim felt that over the course of the week she had known Minka that the pair had formed a bond somewhere between acquaintances and friends.

However, the more Kim thought about the Syndicate's methods – her mind kept going back to the crater at Chernobyl and how Ronan had been so quick to shoot the Rabbit – the more she felt unsure about them. She was second-guessing her ideals, but she was sure she couldn't abide by theirs. She was better than that. She could resolve conflicts more peacefully, she was sure. It would be tricky when dealing with Lucas Cutting and his team, and perhaps she was underestimating just how difficult, but Kim was able to muster up the confidence that she would be able to apprehend that tyrant and his mole without inflicting _undo_ harm.

That is, if she were given the chance. She didn't know what Rooke had planned in the wake of this hiccup. At the time, it was unknown how Global Justice was responding to the mutiny. What was to become of her, Ron, and their families? Thus far, Margo and Rooke had ultimately dictated their fate. Sure, she and Ron were offered the possibility of working with the Syndicate agents, but Kim got the feeling that they were more 'tag-alongs' than actual participants. Although, she supposed, it wasn't like she, Ron, and their families had proven themselves capable of handling this situation; they did unknowingly fraternize with the enemy. But so did the Syndicate . . . but . . .

Kim moaned, clasping her head and falling over into her lap. It was fours days later, and the morning of Hego's funeral. She was sitting by herself on the Gordon's front steps. She had woken early, her mind flooded with conflicting thoughts. She was dressed in a simple black dress, black tights, and kitten-heeled black shoes. Her red hair was pulled away from her face in a tight, loosely curled ponytail. The rest of the group was in the house getting ready; they would be leaving for the church in about an hour.

Behind her, she heard the swing and clattering of the screen door being opened and closed. Cautious footsteps crossed the porch and down a couple steps to where she was seated. Ron's arm automatically looped around Kim's shoulders as he sat next to her. Somberly, he pulled her into his chest, resting his chin on the crown of her head. Rufus lifted himself out of Ron's blazer pocket and affectionately patted Kim's slicked back hair.

"What're we doing here?" she finally asked. She pushed away from Ron's chest and looked at his face. His expression was blank. He didn't know what to say.

He shook his head. "I dunno," he mumbled. He flicked a look at her, hoping she would answer the question or elaborate. "What do you mean?"

This time, Kim shook her head. "How did this happen? How did we end up here? We should be in Middleton, going to the pool, having cookouts, spending time with each other and our families! Getting ready for college! Not . . . here. Not this."

Kim broke off as tears suddenly welled in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away before they could fall. She stared out at the street, unwilling to meet Ron's eyes. A couple blocks off, they heard the abrupt roar and whine of a motorcycle engine and caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure on a sleek black sports bike. A couple days prior, Ronan's Ducati Motorcycle had been shipped from the Manor in Mullion's Cove to Go Park. It was one of the last assignments Rooke issued to Smithers and Ms. Walsh before they left for their respective condos in Boca Raton. Since a Black Rabbit was now aware of the Syndicate's housing location, no one was safe to stay there.

"It's not fair," Kim whispered, looking down at her feet. "This shouldn't have happened."

"Hey, KP," Ron said firmly. "You're right. It's not fair, but it's what's happening. Stop talking like a quitter. Don't make yourself a victim. That's how they win."

Kim chuckled despite herself. It was nice when Ron took up the optimism torch every now and again.

"It's just," Kim started, but then broke off. Collecting her thoughts, she finally continued, "What do we do now? It's Black Rabbits: one. Us: zero. We haven't heard anything from GJ, Dr. Director, or Will. We haven't had any contact with anyone from Middleton. How do we know they're okay? What's to say that the Rabbits' hit on us doesn't extend beyond that? What if they go for something bigger to try and get us? Or Drakken and Shego? They've already killed Heg-Henry. I don't know what to do."

Ron listened intently, his grip on her shoulder becoming a little tighter. Finally he said: "I don't know what to do either. But whenever you figure out what it is you want to do, I'll be with you."

Kim looked at Ron, noting his signature 'serious face'. She smiled weakly and kissed him.

* * *

Elsewhere in the Gordon house, Drakken was in the middle of a vicious fight with his tie. He absolutely deplored that garment and all of its manifestations. He could never figure out where to cross, loop, adjust, pull, or any other type of maneuver that would secure the godforsaken fabric around his neck. He stared angrily into the mirror of Shego's old vanity, grappling fiercely with the accessory.

"Here," came Shego's voice behind him. "Let me help you with that."

Dejectedly, Drakken turned to face her. She undid the knot he had managed and began to skillfully create the intricate design of the tie. He watched her hands with impressed interest.

"You're good at this," he commented.

"Well, when you grow up with four brothers –"

Shego broke off and furrowed her brow, concentrating on her task. Drakken watched as a distinctive darkness clouded her face. He wanted to do something for her, but what could he do? How could one sufficiently make up for the death of a loved one? Drakken wasn't any good at coming up with sympathetic comments that weren't awkward, and thankfully Shego wasn't one to want them. She preferred not to talk about such things. He knew that, but he had a difficult time quelling his almost automatic habit of wanting to talk things out. He managed, however, because she needed to him to just not talk about it. That's what she needed, that's what she wanted, that's what she would get.

"There," Shego said, adjusting the knot at Drakken's neck slightly.

Taking his eyes off of her, Drakken looked down at the tie around his neck. Like everything else she did, it was perfect.

"Thank you."

Shego nodded, biting her lower lip. "Drakken?" she asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" He looked back up at her, noticing the hollow resolve in her green eyes.

"I want to stay with the Syndicate. I don't know what they might have planned for our 'safety', but I intend on staying with them," she stated firmly. "They're going after Cutting and . . . her, and I want to too."

Drakken stared at her blankly. He hadn't planned on leaving the Syndicate at all, but he was still taken aback by the vigor of Shego's statement. He couldn't help but feel that – in the implication of her declaration – she was carefully verifying that he wasn't going to leave her. It was odd that such a dependent innuendo would come out of Shego's mouth, but there it was all the same.

"Alright then," Drakken confirmed. "We'll stay."

A smile barely registered on Shego's tired face before she looped her arms around the doctor and hugged him tightly. Drakken cradled her, suddenly painfully aware of how much smaller she was than him. Shego had always seemed so strong and physically intimidating, a force to be reckoned with. Now, holding her, she seemed so small and fragile. He didn't like it. He didn't like what the mole had done to her.

"I love you, Shego," he said quietly, resting his cheek against her head.

"Saoirse."

"What?"

"Saoirse," Shego repeated. "It's my name."

'Shego' no longer seemed fitting now that Hego was gone.

* * *

The funeral took place at Saint Peter's cathedral late that morning. It was a Roman Catholic perish that the Gordon's had been going to ever since Jay and Margo were children. Jay, Miriam, their remaining children, Drakken, Margo, and Rooke sat in the front pew. Kim, Ron, and their families right behind them; Mrs. Stoppable stood in the church's annex with Hana, watching the proceedings through the stained glass that separated the two rooms. The rest of the church was absolutely stuffed to the gills with family friends and adoring public. Looking around at the structures vast interior, Kim spotted Derek and Sutton up in the balcony where the organ resided. She figured Rooke had the rest of his agents stationed at various points inside and outside of the church. Outside, more Go City citizens were barricaded behind police blockades, solemnly watching the church.

The service was decidedly beautiful and appropriate in remembering and appreciating Henry's life and impact on the city. The priest said a few encouraging words about death and shared a few personal memories of Henry. The choir sang songs that hauntingly echoed around sanctuary. The most surprising and moving part of the ceremony was Margo's delivery of the eulogy. She spoke of how Jay and Miriam met, fell in love and had a child that emulated everything about them: Miriam's kindness and understanding, Jay's unwavering dedication to his family and his ideals.

"Henry is everything respectable about my family. He was a compassionate, forgiving, and steady person. Anyone who spent anytime with him – whether he was Henry or Hego – could see that clearly. He had hope for those who had none for themselves. He dedicated his existence to the perseverance of everything just and good

"I wish I could say I knew him better, just as I'm sure most of us would say. But he would not want us to live bogged down by regret, shame, or fear. And so, we mustn't. Despite this great tragedy, despite having a great hero, son, brother, friend ripped out of lives, we have to carry on. In the same way he would have. We can mourn, and we should. But if we allow ourselves to be consumed by the loss of Henry Gordon and those who took him from us, then we will be very lost indeed; '_Though I walk threw the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me'_. Take that as you will."

* * *

Following the church ceremony, there was a great vehicular procession to Go City Cemetery. As they travelled along the streets, Kim was moved by the amount of people who lined the sidewalks to watch them drive by. Every now and then, she would catch a glimpse of Ronan on her motorcycle, driving parallel to the funeral precession on an adjacent street.

Once they reached the cemetery, only the vehicles carrying the Gordons, the Possibles and Stoppables were permitted through the gates. Upon approaching the gravesite, Kim spied JP, Angela, Derek and Sutton standing a few yards away from the tent were the rest of the events were to take place. Kim punched Ron in the arm when she caught sight a Global Justice vehicle. Dr. Director and Will Du were standing next to it. The couple exchanged an apprehensive look of surprise as the caravan came to a stop. Everyone dismounted from their respective cars and headed for the white tent where the priest was waiting for them. Miriam, Jay, Margo and Rooke took up the four folding chairs that had been set under the awning, and the rest stood behind them.

The priest performed a few more traditional prayers and sacraments before stepping aside for military personnel that were there to fold the American Flag draped across Henry's coffin. Even though he had never been affiliated with any United States military branch, the city (and Jay) felt that providing his son with service honors protocol was fitting, considering his work in defending Go City. The two young soldiers expertly folded the flag with amazing synchrony. Once the fabric had been transformed into a tight triangle, one of the soldiers took it in his hands, kneeled before Jay and handed him the flag.

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Military, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciate for your son's honorable and faithful service."

Stone faced, Jay nodded appreciatively and accepted the offering. Miriam's body shook and tears silently streamed down her face. Shego squeezed her mother's shoulders encouragingly. There wasn't much left after that. A few more words, a prayer, and it was time to lower the coffin into the ground.

As things became less formal and people started to intermingle, Kim looked around at Director and Will who were still standing next to the GJ SUV. Before she could take a step towards them, the sight of Ronan leaning against her motorcycle outside of the cemetery fence caught her eye. Weighing the options in her mind, she began to strut down the mild slope to the fence.

"Morning," Ronan greeted as Kim wrapped her hands around the iron posts. She plucked the cigarette from her mouth and breathed out the smoke. "How's it going?"

"Not great."

Ronan smirked and lifted her eyebrows thoughtfully.

"What're we doing?" Kim asked, knitting her brows together.

Ronan's face kept its bemused expression as she looked at the teen. "We?"

Kim rolled her eyes, "You. The Syndicate. What're are you guys going to do next?"

"Why do you care? It's not like your gonna approve of any of our plans. Why don't you just keep quiet and wait for news of where we're gonna hide you and your family next."

"You know, if stopped being such a distant bitch and started working with people a little better, _you _might be able to actually accomplish something in your organization."

Ronan stared at Kim, too impressed to be pissed. "Ooo, Kimmie's got claws!" Kim glowered at the agent in front of her. Ronan's yellow eyes flicked over to a point behind Kim's shoulder and her breath hitched. "Look, Possible, I don't know what's next. If you wanna talk about it, I'm gonna be patrolling the corner of Ash and Gregory by the church during the wake . . . thing."

Kim squinted at her, unsure of what caused the change in her demeanor and subject matter. However, Ronan's discreteness became apparent as Director appeared at Kim's side.

"Betty," Ronan sneered. "Surprised to see you here. Considering that, ya know, your inability to screen your agents brought us to this point. Will, how's the face?"

Behind Director, her top agent hovered, his nose bandaged and his eyes blackened and swollen with bruises. Neither of them acknowledged Ronan's comments.

"May I please speak to you, Kim?" Director asked.

"Think about what I said, Possible," Ronan called, mounting her bike. She slid on her helmet and sped off.

"Sure." Kim answered, her eyes locked to the place where Ronan had been standing.

Slowly, she, Director, and Will made their way back up to the gravesite tent.

"I'm sorry I haven't been in touch," Director began.

"It's alright," Kim said. "What's going on at GJ?"

Director stopped in her tracks. Taking a deep breath, she said, "That's the thing, Kim. As of right now, there is no Global Justice."

"What? What're you talking about? What do you mean?"

At seeing Kim speaking with Director, Ron made his way over to the group and stood next to his girlfriend.

"Upon the . . . unmasking of Agent Carlisle's true identity and her involvement in Henry Gordon's death and with the Black Rabbits, Secretary-General Bur-Whazham has seen fit to exterminate all of GJ's current missions and projects."

"What?"

"He and the President have also dismissed me from my position as Director," she added.

"How can they do that?" Ron asked, shocked. "It's, like, your name!"

Director waved his concern aside. "I agree with their choices. The GJ administration has made some grevious mistakes and has created massive security issues for several nations. If I were in the Secretary-General's shoes, I would do the same."

Kim blinked at the woman in front of her. "So what happens now?"

"Well," Director began, "Will and the other agents will be put under surveillance. Myself and other board members will be put into custody."

"What?" Kim cried. "They can't seriously think that _you _had anything to do with this."

"Kim, as head of Global Justice, any mistake made by the organization is my mistake. I will deal with whatever punishment the courts see fit."

Kim gawked at Director. This couldn't be happening. What would happen to her family now? Ron's family? They had just lost their base of support. Back by the Global Justice car, she saw two large secret service agents exit the driver and passenger sides, eying Director and Will suspiciously.

Director saw what distracted Kim and turned back to the teen, saying, "We have to be going. I am so sorry for this, Kim. Before we do go, though," she said, reaching into her satchel, "I wanted to give you this." She handed Kim a thick manila envelope. "Give it to Rooke. I think he'll find it useful."

Shakily, Kim accepted the stationary. Her eyes once again flitted to the two agents waiting for Director and Will.

"How do you know you can trust them?"

Director looked at Kim sadly and said: "We don't."

Kim and Ron watched hopelessly as Director and Will returned back to their transport.

* * *

Following the burial, there was a luncheon back at Saint Peter's. Long tables of food were lined along the walls of the building's furnished basement. Kim and Ron sat in two chairs placed as far from the hustle and bustle of the company as much as possible. Their families were getting food. Jay was speaking with other officers from Go City PD. Shego was standing attentively by her mother's side, making sure that she was eating.

Kim was still clasping the manila envelope Director had given to her to pass along to Rooke. She hadn't looked inside. She hesitated giving it to Rooke because she felt that, along with handing over the envelope, she was also handing him her and her family's safety and trust. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn't bring herself to part with the parchment. She thought about her brief conversation with Ronan earlier. Kim couldn't pinpoint the motivation, but she felt the want to seek the Syndicate member out.

"I'm going to find Ronan," Kim said suddenly. She got up from her chair and headed towards the basement's exit.

Confused, Ron trotted after her. "What? Why?"

"I want to talk to her."

The pair ascended the basement stairs and made their way through the Rectory and out the church's doors. They walked around the block until they came upon the intersection of Ash and Gregory. As promised, Ronan was there, leaning against a lamppost, staring off at the distant skylines of Go City and Chicago.

"Hey," Kim called, walking up to her. Ronan casually glanced over at her, eying Ron who was tagging behind.

"What've you got there?" she asked, looking down at the envelope in Kim's hands.

"I don't know. Director gave it to me to give to Rooke."

"Why haven't you?"

"Because," Kim said firmly, "Director and Global Justice are out of the picture. Since Minka somehow weaseled her way into GJ, the UN has shut the organization down and put Director under arrest."

"You're surprised? It's getting to be the time for people to panic," Ronan explained.

"We can't let them do this! Can't Rooke do anything? He's gotta know someone."

"Kim, Rooke does not have any sway over major governments, much less the United Nations. You know that. That's what you don't like about us: We need to be . . . sneaky to get things done," reminded Ronan. The light in her eyes and her tone changed when she asked: "What's wrong? Really?"

Kim stared at the woman, gritting her jaw. Forcefully, she pulled her eyes off of Ronan's face and stared at the city skylines. Ron waited for Kim's answer, as well.

"Everything's falling apart," Kim uttered finally. She kept her eyes glued on the distant horizon. "Nothing is going the way it should. The wrong people are being punished; the bad guys are ahead of us. I can't seem to apply my methods and beliefs to this scenario, but I cannot support yours."

"You can't save everyone, Kim," Ronan said with unusual softness; the statement rattled almost comfortingly through her lips.

Kim blinked, suddenly aware of the water pooling in her eyes. Swallowing the growing lump in her throat, she once again looked the Syndicate agent in the face.

"I won't hide. I won't stand idle, allowing the Syndicate to fight this alone. If you stow us away somewhere, we'll look for Cutting ourselves."

Ron came to stand alongside Kim, taking up her hand. He eyed Ronan with the same zeal as his girlfriend. "We can work with you. We want in." Kim squeezed Ron's hand as a thank you for coming to her aide.

Ronan stared blankly at the couple. Slowly, a faint, sly grin appeared on her face. "Alright then."

* * *

**A/N: **Yep. That's where this book ends. I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS STORY. I REPEAT: I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS STORY!

Not in the least. I have personally worked too hard, and have put too much time in building my OCs to let this fall by the wayside. However, it will be a couple/few weeks before the next book is up. I have internship interviews coming up and school projects that need to be dealt with. That, and I need to finish designing the next book's chapter outlines; I know how it's gonna start, how it's gonna end, and what needs to happen in the middle . . . I just need to piece everything together now.

Thanks to all my readers! And special thanks to all of you who continuously reviewed (I'm lookin' at you, CB37 and zzooo99). I hope you guys continue to follow me as this story line progresses! Keep a sharp eye out for the next 'Syndicate' book: **Red and Black**


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